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MY PETS 




European Goldfinch 
Page 104 



MY PETS 



Real Happenings in My Aviary 



By 

Marshall Saunders 

Author of " Beautiful Joe '' 
Illustrated from Photographs 



If I can stop one heart from breaking, 

I shall not live in vain^ 
If I can ease one life the aching, 

Or cool one pain, 
Or help one fainting robin 

Unto his nest again, 
I shall not live in vain. 



Philadelphia 

The Griffith & Rowland Press 

Atlanta 
Dallas 



Boston 
New York 



Chicago 
St. Louis 



'o 



^t: 



I OCT 16 ^yub I 

Copyright 1908 by the 
American Baptist Publication Society 



Published August, 1908 



• • • 

9 i 
> • «i 



jfrom tbe Society's own pxcBS 



DEDICATION 

I dedicate this hook to those of my hoy 
and girl friends who are never satisfied 
with a story unless it is entirely true. 
While the most of my stories are partly 
true, I have never hefore written one that 
is entirely and wholly true in every particu- 
lar. The story of my aviary and the pets 
in it is taken from my diaries, and many 
of the hirds are still living and moving 
and having their heing, and are always 
glad to see any girls and boys who call on 
them, if they do not come in too great 
numhers at one time. 

Marshall Saunders. 
Boston, January, igo8. 



CONTENTS 

Chapter Pagb 

I. The Story of Two Owls 1 1 

II. The Owls Start on Their Travels .... 22 

III. A Reign OF Robins . 34 

IV. A Naughty Mockingbird ........ 41 

V. A Robin and Sparrow Friendship .... 48 

VI. Dixie and Tardy 57 

VII. Rabbits and Guineapigs 66 

VIII. My Pet Rats 75 

IX. Farewell to the Rats and Rabbits ... 83 

X. A Bird from Over the Sea 95 

XI. Good-bye to the Gallinu'les 104 

XII. First Acquaintance WITH Pigeons . . . .111 

Xllt. The Homing Pigeon the King of Birds . .120 

XIV. Princess Sukey 129 

XV. Pigeons and Hawks 139 

XVI. Sukey and Her Foster- pigeon 150 

XVII. Minnie Post-office '. . . 161 

XVIII. My First Canaries . . . 168 

7 



Contents 

Chapter Page 

XIX. Raising Young Birds 179 

XX. Canary Characteristics 191 

XXI. Little Peters 200 

XXII. Crested Cardinals 212 

XXIII. Cardinal Babies 226 

XXIV. Sparrows and Swallows 239 

XXV. A Mother Carey's Chicken 248 

XXVI. Sweet-sweet and the Saint of the Aviary 252 

XXVII. A Hummingbird and Native and Foreign 

Finches 262 

XXVIII. Japanese Robins and a Bobolink .... 275 



8 



LIST OF 
COLORED ILLUSTRATIONS 

Pagb 

European Goldfinch Frontispiece 

Purple Gallinule 95 ^ 

American Goldfinch i^^ '^ 

Red and Brazilian Cardinals 212 * 

Indigo Bunting 260 

Flying Squirrels ^/j -''' 




CHAPTER I 



THE STORY OF TWO OWLS 



THE birds that really started rne in the serious, 
and yet amusing task of keeping an aviary, 
were two little Californian screech owls. 

The year was 1899, and I was studying boy life in 
the charming Belmont School, twenty-five miles 
from San Francisco. The grounds of the school lie 
on the lower slope of hills that enclose an open val- 
ley fronting the bay of San Francisco. A walk of 
twelve miles took us to the shores of the Pacific. 
Close to the school were beautiful canons that the 
boys and older persons were never tired of explor- 
ing. The lads of the school were allowed to keep 

II 



My Pets 

dogs, horses, pigeons, poultry — indeed, any pets 
they chose to have. One day, when I was up in the 
poultry yard, where there were some choice bantams 
and game-fowl, I saw a boy trotting about with a 
box in his hand. 

" What have you there ? " I asked. 

" Four little owls," he replied. " I got them the 
other day when I was out walking, and I had their 
mother too, but she has flown away." 

" What are you going to do with them ? " I said. 

"I don't know," he replied thoughtfully. "I 
don't want to bother with them. I suppose it would 
be best to kill them." 

I looked in the box. Those four solemn-eyed, 
motherless balls of down appealed to me. In 
southern California I had been very much taken 
with the little owls that sat on hillocks, and turned 
their heads round and round to look after any one 
riding or driving by, until it really seemed as if they 
would twist them off. 

I felt that I must adopt these little Northerners, 
so I said to the boy, " I will take them." 

He joyfully resigned his charges, for he did not 
like the idea of destroying them, and I thought- 
fully pursued my way to my room; what did owls 
eat? 

I asked everybody I met, and the universal recom- 
mendation was, " Give them raw meat. That is 
the best substitute for the birds, mice, and insects 
that their parents catch for them," 

12 



The Story of Two Owls 

I went to the Japanese cook, and with a friendly 
grin he seized a huge knife and swung himself down 
the hill to the meat-room. 

On receiving a piece of beef, I minced it fine, and 
dropped small morsels into the open beaks of my 
new pets. They were hungry, and after eating, 
nestled down together and went to sleep. 

The days are mild, but the nights are chilly about 
the bay of San Francisco. So after their latest sup- 
per, I put a rubber bag of hot water under their nest 
and covered them up for the night. 

In the morning I hurried to their basket, and un- 
covered the nest I had made for them. They were 
as warm as toast, and four wide-open beaks pleaded 
eloquently for food. I cut up more meat, and for 
days fed them when hungry, and carried them out 
of doors in the sunshine, where they were objects 
of interest to every one about the place, especially 
to the dogs that would fain have devoured them. 

One Sierra collie dog, Teddy Roosevelt by name, 
in whose upbringing I was assisting, used to tremble 
as he stared at them, partly from jealousy, partly 
because he recognized lawful prey in them. 

One day some one suggested gopher — that is, 
ground-squirrel meat — as a change of diet. The 
gophers do an immense amount of damage in Cali- 
fornia on lawns and in flower-gardens, where they 
burrow to get at the tender roots. 

I went to a house near by, where a gentleman was 
trying to get rid of the gophers that were devasta- 

13 



My Pets 

ting his lawn. He put up a warning hand when he 
saw me coming, A line of hose lay beside him, with 
which he had been trying to flood a gopher out of 
his hole. Presently the poor little fellow came 
struggling up. The gentleman despatched him with 
a satisfied, " He is the last one. Now the grass 
will grow." 

He presented me with the dead body, and ani- 
mated by a feeling of duty to my owl family, I 
carried it home, cut off a piece, and offered it to the 
owls. They would not eat it. They preferred mut- 
ton, beef, or veal. On these they flourished. 

Soon I had another meat-eating bird given to 
me. While walking in a beautiful cation, where live- 
oaks and ferns, green from spring rains, abounded, 
one of the teachers who had strayed from the rest 
of the party, came back to us with a young sparrow- 
hawk that he had found. No parents seemed to be 
near. If left on the ground it would perish. In the 
light of subsequent experience, I would have put 
it high up on a branch and left it, trusting to the 
parents to find it. At that time I did not under- 
stand how faithful and constant birds are in fol- 
lowing their young, so I took it in spite of its dis- 
mal squawks, and carried it back to the school. 

My owls, by this time, had grown famously, and 
like children, they began to exercise their tiny 
limbs. It was very amusing to see them trying to 
climb from the center of their box to the top. They 
would stretch out diminutive claws, mount over each 

14 



The Story of Two Owls 

other, fall back, try again, and finally succeeded 
in sitting all in a row on the top, looking with 
solemn, questioning eyes on the great world around 
them. I put Hawkie with them, and they adopted 
him as a brother, and usually kept him in the 
middle. It was a pretty sight to see the row of 
five, with the mottled, brown bird tucked snugly 
between his owl friends. 

When the summer vacation came, and the boys 
dispersed, I went with some friends to live in a 
cottage across the bay of San Francisco, just under 
the slope of Mount Tamalpais. At the back of the 
cottage was a veranda shaded by a climbing rose. 
In the rose branches I put Hawkie and my two owls, 
named Solomon and Betsy. 

Very regretfully I had been obliged to part 
from two of the little owls, for the boy who had 
given them to me was so pleased with the progress 
they had made, that he asked for the return of a 
part of his gift. I was sorry afterward that he had 
not let me keep them, for a cat soon made away 
with them. As the summer went by, I wondered 
that I did not lose my three pets. They sat all day 
long in the rose branches. Daytime, of course, is 
sleepy time for owls, but even when dusk came on 
they made no attempt to fly away, and the hawk 
only made one or two half-hearted efforts to fly 
across the garden out into the road. 

Toward autumn the owls were fully developed, 
and other little screech owls had found them out, 

15 



My Pets 

and at dusk would come about the cottage, saying 
softly, " Too, who, who, who, who ! " 

Solomon and Betsy never seemed interested 
enough to respond, and every evening I took them 
in the house where Hawkie went to sleep, and 
Betsy and Solomon became lively, and in the gen- 
tlest and sweetest of tones hooted for their meat. 

They were tiny creatures, their bodies being not 
much larger than a New England robin's, but their 
eyes seemed immense. They had a peculiar habit 
of staring at their food, then twisting their heads 
round and round before they pounced on it. It was 
very amusing to see the owls " focus," and it became 
a way of entertaining our friends. 

They often had a tug of war over their meat, 
when I gave it to them without cutting it up. Sollie 
would seize one end of a piece of beefsteak, and 
Betsy would grasp the other, and then they would 
brace their little claws and pull until the taste of 
the raw flesh being too tantalizing, one would let 
go to swallow a morsel, and at once lose the whole 
thing. 

When the autumn had come we, with other sum- 
mer residents, left Mill Valley where, I must not 
forget to say, numbers of beautiful birds abounded. 
Some of the public-spirited citizens had imported 
foreign birds in the hope of acclimating them. I 
was often awakened by a gay note and a flash of red 
at the window, as some foreigner wished me good- 
morning. The birds were protected, and the fine 

l6 



The Story of Two Owls 

forests were also protected. When we went for 
picnics, mounted guards would warn us that we 
must light no fires under the magnificent old trees. 

The owl's next place of residence was Berkeley, 
where my younger sister went to take classes in the 
State University. We had rented a small cottage 
there, and to this day we laugh over our experiences 
in moving to our new home. We had the two owls, 
Hawkie, the dog Teddy, and a chipmunk that my 
married sister had brought me from Lake Tahoe, 
that most beautiful of Californian summer resorts. 
How were we to take charge of all these creatures ? 
For we had to cross the bay of San Francisco, then 
recross it to Berkeley. We finally got a large cage 
for Hawkie and the owls, and put in a compartment, 
giving them the upper part, and the chipmunk the 
lower. The dog we put on a chain. 

Taking the train from Mill Valley to Sausalito, 
we boarded the steamer for San Francisco, changed 
to another, and went across the bay to Oakland, 
thence by train to Berkeley. When we arrived there 
it was late in the afternoon, and my sister and I, 
the dog, the owls, Hawkie, and the chipmunk, were 
all tired out. Indeed, the dog, who was very petted 
and spoiled, and who did not enjoy traveling, had 
dark rings around his eyes, and was in a peevish, 
mischievous condition. To my sister's disgust, for 
she being the younger was the victim, he started to 
run away. She had to run after him, and came 
back exhausted. 

B 17 



My Pets 

To add to our troubles, we could not get into our 
cottage that night. Fortunately, our landlady took 
boarders, and offered us a room in her house. We 
gladly accepted this offer, and putting the subdued 
Teddy in a tool-shed, took the birds in the house. 

My sister says she never was more tired in her life 
than she was that night. We were sleeping bliss- 
fully, when we were awakened by a well-known 
sound. The naughty little owls, glad of the peace 
and quietness of the night after the turmoil of the 
day, were hooting persistently and melodiously. 

" The landlady and the boarders," gasped my 
sister ; " they will hear and wake up. Can't you stop 
the little wretches ? " 

I sprang out of bed, and addressed a solemn re- 
monstrance to Solomon and Betsy. They were 
exceedingly glad to see me, and distending their lit- 
tle throats, continued to hoot, their clear, sweet 
young voices carrying only too well on the still 
Californian night air. 

Then the chipmunk woke up and began to slide 
up and down an inclined piece of wood in his part 
of the cage. We were in despair. We could not 
sleep, until I had the happy thought of giving the 
owls a bath. I seized Betsy, held her in a basin of 
water, and wet her feathers considerably. Then I 
served Solomon in the same way, and for the rest of 
the night the tiny little things occupied themselves 
in smoothing their wet plumage. The chipmunk 
quieted down, and we had peace. 

i8 



The Story of Two Owls 

When we got into the cottage I had a carpenter 
build a small aviary at the back of it, with a box for 
rainy weather. The nights were not too cold for 
my hardy birds. Indeed, they were not too cold 
for many semi-tropical ones. I found a bird fancier 
not far from me, who had built a good-sized, open- 
air aviary, where he kept canaries and foreign 
finches all the year round, with only a partly open, 
glass shelter for the birds to use when it rained. 

My sparrowhawk did not seem unhappy in my 
aviary, but he never had the contented, comfortable 
expression that the owls had. His apathy was 
pathetic, and the expression of his beautiful, cruel 
eyes was an unsatisfied one. In time, I should have 
allowed him to go, but suddenly he fell ill. I think 
I overfed him, for I got him into the habit of taking 
a late supper, always leaning out the window and 
handing him a piece of meat on the end of a stick 
before I went to bed. 

I brought him into the warm, kitchen, where he 
moped about for a few days. Just before he died he 
came hopping toward the parlor, where I sat enter- 
taining a friend. I often took him in there on the 
broad windowsill and talked to him as I sat sewing. 

He stood in the doorway, gave me a peculiar look, 
as if to say, " I would come in if you were alone," 
hopped back to the kitchen, and in a short time was 
no more. 

My sister and I mourned sincerely for our pretty 
bird, and I had the uncomfortable feeling that I 

19 



My Pets 

might have done better if I had left him in his own 
habitat — but then he might have starved to death if 
his parents had not found him. Would death by 
starvation have been any more painful than his 
death with me? Possibly some larger creature 
might have killed him swiftly and mercifully — it 
was a puzzling case, and I resolved to give up 
worrying about it. I had done what I considered 
was best, and I tried to console myself for his 
death in petting the dear little owls that had become 
so tame that they called to my sister and me when- 
ever they saw us, and loved to have us take them in 
our hands and caress them. 

About them I had no misgivings. They would 
certainly have died if I had not adopted them, and 
there was no question about their happiness. They 
were satisfied with a state of captivity. They had 
so far lost one of their owl habits, for they kept 
awake nearly all day, and slept nearly all night — 
and they could see quite well in the most brilliant 
Californian sunlight, and that is pretty brilliant. A 
cat or a dog many yards distant would cause them 
to raise excitedly the queer little ear tufts that play 
so prominent a part in the facial expression of some 
owls, and they would crack their beaks together and 
hiss angrily if the enemy came too near. 

Cats and dogs frightened them, and a broom 
merely excited them. When strangers wanted to 
see the elevation of these tufts, a broom, swiftly 
passed over the floor, would cause Solomon and 

20 



The Story of Two Owls 

Betsy to become very wide awake, with feather 
tufts straight up in the air. I never saw them 
abjectly and horribly frightened but once. A lady 
had brought her handsome parrot into the room 
where the owls were. The poor little mites put 
up their ear tufts, swayed to and fro on their perch, 
and instead of packing their feathers and becoming 
thin and elongated in appearance, as they did for 
cats and dogs, they puffed themselves out, snapped 
their beaks, and uttered the loudest hissing noise I 
had ever heard from them. 

From their extremity of fear I concluded that 
their instinct told them this danger was so imminent 
that they must make themselves as formidable as 
possible. 

The parrot was of course quickly removed, and I 
took care that they should never again see another 
one. 



21 




CHAPTER II 



THE OWLS START ON THEIR TRAVELS 



BETSY and Solomon lived happily through that 
winter and spring, and before summer came 
we had made up our minds to return to the East. 
What should we do with the owls ? They would be 
a great deal of trouble to some one. They required 
an immense amount of petting, and a frequent sup- 
ply of perfectly fresh meat. No matter how busy 
we were, one of usliad to go to the butcher every 
other day. 

We began to inquire among our friends who 
would like a nice, affectionate pair of owls ? There 
seemed no great eagerness on the part of any one to 



22 



The Owls Start on Their Travels 

take the pets we so much valued. Plans for their 
future worried me so much that at last I said to 
my sister, " We will take them East with us." 

The owls, who were to take so long a journey, 
became objects of interest to our friends, and at a 
farewell tea given to us, a smartly dressed young 
man vowed that he must take leave of Solomon and 
Betsy. Calling for a broom, he slowly passed it to 
and fro over the carpet before them, while they sat 
looking at him with lifted ear tiifts that betrayed 
great interest in his movements. 

We trembled a little in view of our past moving 
experiences, but we were devoted to the little crea- 
tures and, when the time came, we cheerfully 
boarded the overland train at Oakland. 

We had with us Betsy and Solomon in their large 
cage, and in a little cage a pair of strawberry 
finches, so called because their breasts are dotted 
like a strawberry. A friend had requested us to 
bring them East for her. We bad also a dog — not 
Teddy, that had only been lent to us ; but our own 
Irish setter Nita, one of the most lovable and inter- 
esting animals that I have ever owned. 

The chipmunk was no longer with us. He had 
not seemed happy in the aviary — indeed, he lay 
down in it and threw me a cunning look, as if to 
say, " I will die if you don't let me out of this." 
So I gave him the freedom of the house. That 
pleased him, and for a few days he was very diligent 
in assisting us with our housekeeping by picking 

23 



My Pets 

all the crumbs off the floors and eating them. Then 
he disappeared, and I hope was happy ever after 
among the superb oak trees of the university 
grounds close to us. 

When we started for the East, the pets, of course, 
had to go into the baggage car, and I must say 
here for the benefit of those persons who wish to 
travel with animals and birds, that there is good 
accommodation for them on overland trains. Some- 
times we bought tickets for them, sometimes they 
had to go in an express car, sometimes we tipped 
the baggagemasters, but the sums spent were not 
exorbitant, and we found everywhere provision 
made for pets. You cannot take them in your rooms 
in hotels, but there is a place for them somewhere, 
and they will be brought to you whenever you wish 
to see them, or to give them exercise. We were on 
several different railway lines, and visited eight dif- 
ferent cities, and the dog and birds, upon arriving 
in eastern Canada, seemed none the worse for their 
trip. 

However, I would not by any means encourage 
the transportation of animals. Indeed, my feelings 
on the subject, since I understand the horrors ani- 
mals and birds endure while being whirled from one 
place to another, are rather too strong for utterance. 
I would only say that in a case like mine, where 
separation between an owner and pets would mean 
unhappiness, it is better for both to endure a few 
days or weeks of travel. Then the case of animals 

24 



The Owls Start on Their Travels 

and birds traveling with some one who sees and 
encourages them every day is different from the 
case of unfortunate creatures sent off alone. 

Our Nita was taken out of the car at every sta- 
tion where it was possible to exercise her, and one 
of us would run into restaurants along the route to 
obtain fresh meat for the owls. Their cage was 
closely covered, but whenever they heard us com- 
ing they hooted, and as no one seemed to guess 
what they were, they created a great deal of interest. 
My sister and I were amused one evening in Salt 
Lake City to see a man bending over the cage with 
an air of perplexity. 

" They must be poUies," he said at last, and yet 
his face showed that he did not think those were 
parrot noises issuing from within. 

I remember one evening on arriving in Albany, 
New York, causing slight consternation in the hotel 
by a demand for raw meat. We hastened to explain 
that we did not want it for ourselves, and finally 
obtained what we wished. 

As soon as we arrived home in Halifax, Nova 
Scotia, the owls were put downstairs in a nice, dry 
basement. They soon found their way upstairs, 
where the whole family was prepared to welcome 
them on account of their pretty ways and their love 
for caresses. 

Strange to say, they took a liking to my father, 
who did not notice them particularly, and a mis- 
chievous dislike to my mother, who was disposed to 

25 



My Pets 

pet them. They used to fly on her head whenever 
they saw her. Their little claws were sharp and 
unpleasant to her scalp. We could not imagine why 
they selected her head unless it was that her gray 
hair attracted them. However, we had a French 
Acadian maid called Lizzie, whose hair was jet 
black, and they disliked her even more than they did 
my mother. 

Lizzie, to get to her storeroom, had to cross the 
furnace-room where the owls usually were, and she 
soon began to complain bitterly of them. 

" Dey watch me," she said indignantly, " dey fly 
on my head, dey scratch me, an' pull out my hair- 
pins, an' make my head sore." 

" Why don't you push them off, Lizzie ? " I asked, 
" they are only tiny things." 

" Dey won't go — dey hold on an' beat me," she 
replied, and soon the poor girl had to arm herself 
with a switch when she went near them. 

Lizzie was a descendant of the veritable Acadians 
mentioned in Longfellow's " Evangeline," of whom 
there are several thousand in Nova Scotia. My 
mother was attached to her, and at last she said, " I 
will not have Lizzie worried. Bring the owls up in 
my bathroom." 

There they seemed perfectly happy, sitting watch- 
ing the sparrows from the window and teasing my 
long-suffering mother, who was obliged to give up 
using gas in this bathroom, for very often the owls 
put it out by flying at it. 

26 



The Owls Start on Their Travels 

One never heard them coming. I did not before 
this realize how noiseless the flight of an owl is. 
One did not dream they were near till there was 
a breath of air fanning one's cheek. After we gave 
up the gas, for fear they would burn themselves, we 
decided to use a candle. It was absolutely necessary 
to have an unshaded light, for they would perch on 
any globe shading a flame, and would burn their feet. 

The candle was more fun for them than the gas, 
for it had a smaller flame, and was more easily 
extinguished, and usually on entering the room, 
away would go the light, and we would hear in the 
corner a laughing voice, saying " Too, who, who, 
who, who ! " 

The best joke of all for the owls was to put out 
the candle when one was taking a bath, and I must 
say I heard considerable grumbling from the family 
on the subject. It seemed impossible to shade the 
light from them, and to find one's self in the dark in 
the midst of a good splash, to have to emerge from 
the tub, dripping and cross, and search for matches, 
was certainly not calculated to add to one's affection 
for Solomon and Betsy. However, they were mem- 
bei^s of the family, and as George Eliot says, " The 
members of your family are like the nose on your 
face — ^you have got to put up with it, seeing you 
can't get rid of it." 

Alas ! the time soon came when we had to lament 
the death of one of our troublesome but beloved pets. 

Betsy one day partook heartily of a raw fish head, 

27 



My Pets 

and in spite of remedies applied, sickened rapidly 
and sank into a dying condition. 

I was surprised to find what a hold the little thing 
had taken on my affection. When her soft, gray 
body became cold, I held her in my hand close to 
the fire and, with tears in my eyes, wished for a 
miracle to restore her to health. 

She lay quietly until just before she died. Then 
she opened her eyes and I called to the other mem- 
bers of the family to come and see their strange ex- 
pression. They became luminous and beautiful, and 
dilated in a peculiar way. We hear of the eyes of 
dying persons lighting up wonderfully, and this 
strange illumination of little Betsy's eyes reminded 
me of such cases. 

Even after death she lay with those wide-open 
eyes, and feeling that I had lost a friend, I put 
down her little dead body. It was impossible for 
me to conceal my emotion, and my mother, who had 
quite forgotten Betsy's hostility to her, generously 
took the little feathered creature to a taxidermist. 

I may say that Betsy was the first and last bird 
I shall ever have stuffed. I dare say the man did 
the work as well as it could be done, but I gazed in 
dismay at my Betsy when she came home. That stiff 
little creature sitting on a stick, with glazed eyes and 
motionless body, could not be the pretty little bird 
whose every motion was grace. Ever since the day 
of Betsy's death, I can feel no admiration for a dead 
bird. Indeed, I turn sometimes with a shudder 

28 



The Owls Start on Their Travels 

from the agonized postures, the horrible eyes of 
birds in my sister women's hats — and yet I used to 
wear them myself. My present conviction shows 
what education will do. If you like and study live 
birds, you won't want to wear dead ones. 

After Betsy's death Solomon seemed so lonely 
that I resolved to buy him a companion. I chose 
a robin, and bought him for two dollars from a 
woman who kept a small shop. A naturalist friend 
warned me that I would have trouble, but I said 
remonstratingly, " My owl is not like other owls. 
He has been brought up like a baby. He does not 
know that his ancestors killed little birds." 

Alas ! When my robin had got beautifully tame, 
when he would hop about after me, and put his 
pretty head on one side while I dug in the earth 
for worms for him, when he was apparently on the 
best of terms with Sollie, I came home one day to a 
dreadful discovery. Sollie was flying about with the 
robin's body firmly clutched in one claw. He had 
killed and partly eaten him. I caught him, took 
the robin away from him, and upbraided him 
severely. 

" Too, who, who, who who," he said — apologetic- 
ally, it seemed to me, " instinct was too strong for 
me. I got tired of playing with him, and thought I 
would see what he tasted Hke." 

I could not say too much to him. What about the 
innocent lambs and calves, of which Sollie's owners 
had partaken ? 

29 



My Pets 

I had a fine large place in the basement for 
keeping pets, with an earth floor, and a number of 
windows, and I did not propose to have Sollie 
murder all the birds I might acquire. So, one end 
of this room was wired off for him. He had a 
window in this cage overlooking the garden, and 
it was large enough for me to go in and walk about, 
while talking to him. He seemed happy enough 
there, and while gazing into the garden or watching 
the rabbits, guineapigs, and other pets in the large 
part of the room, often indulged in long, contented 
spells of cooing — not hooting. 

In 1902 I was obliged to leave him for a six 
months' trip to Europe. He was much petted by 
my sister, and I think spent most of his time 
upstairs with the family. When I returned home I 
brought, among other birds, a handsome Brazil 
cardinal. I stood admiring him as he stepped out of 
his traveling cage and flew around the aviary. Un- 
fortunately, instead of choosing a perch, he flattened 
himself against the wire netting In Sollle's corner. 

I was looking right at him and the owl, and I 
never saw anything but lightning equal the celerity 
of Sollie's flight, as he precipitated himself against 
the netting and caught at my cardinal's showy 
red crest. The cardinal screamed like a baby, and 
I ran to release him, marveling that the owl could 
so insinuate his little claws through the fine mesh 
of the wire. However, he could do it, and he 
gripped the struggling cardinal by the long, hair-like 

30 



The Owls Start on Their Travels 

topknot, until I uncurled the wicked little claws. 
A bunch of red feathers fell to the ground, and the 
dismayed cardinal flew into a corner. 

" Sollie," I said, going into his cage and taking 
him in my hand, *' how could you be so cruel to that 
new bird? " 

" Oh, coo, coo, coo, coo," he replied in a delight- 
fully soft little voice, and gently resting his naughty 
little beak against my face. " You had better come 
upstairs," I said, " I am afraid to leave you down 
here with that poor cardinal. You will be catching 
him again." 

He cooed once more. This just suited him, and 
he spent the rest of his life in regions above. I 
knew that he would probably not live as long in 
captivity as he would have done if his lot had been 
cast in the California foothills. His life was too 
unnatural. In their native state, owls eat their prey 
whole, and after a time disgorge pellets of bones, 
feathers, hairs, and scales, the remnants of food that 
cannot be digested. 

My owls, on account of their upbringing, wanted 
their food cleaned for them. Betsy, one day, after 
much persuasion, swallowed a mouse to oblige me, 
but she was such a dismal picture as she sat for a 
long time with the tail hanging out of her beak that I 
never offered her another. 

I tried to keep Solomon in condition by giving 
him, or forcing him to take, foreign substances, but 
my plan only worked for a time. 

31 



My Pets 

I always dreaded the inevitable, and one winter 
day in 1903 I looked sharply at him, as he called to 
me when I entered the house after being away for a 
few hours. " That bird is ill ! " I said. 

No other member of the family saw any change in 
him, but when one keeps birds and becomes fa- 
miliar with the appearance of each one, they all 
have different facial and bodily expressions, and 
one becomes extremely susceptible to the slightest 
change. As I examined Sollie, my heart sank within 
me, and I began to inquire what he had been eating. 
He had partaken freely of boiled egg, meat, and 
charcoal. I gave him a dose of olive oil, and I must 
say that the best bird or beast to take medicine is an 
owl. Neither he nor Betsy ever objected in the least 
to opening their beaks and taking any sort of a 
dose I was minded to give them. 

The oil did him no good, and I saw that he was 
doomed. I kept him beside me during the night, 
and at four o'clock in the morning he died. Just 
at the last he opened his eyes, and there was the 
same strange, luminous, beautiful appearance of the 
eye-ball that there had been when Betsy died. I 
have seen many birds die, but have never, except in 
the case of the owls, noticed this opening of the eyes, 
with the curious illumination. 

We missed the little fellow immensely, for he 
often insinuated his pretty little cooing note in the 
midst of our family conversation. He knew each 
one of us, and would call out when we came near 

32 



The Owls Start on Their Travels 

him, but a stranger he always received in silence, 
and with raised ear tufts. 

We tried not to mourn foolishly for our pet. The 
reproach is often and justly brought against animal- 
lovers that they are over-sensitive — that they love 
not wisely, but too well. We suffer, and the lower 
creation suffers with us. We lie down and die, and 
so must they. The rational and really happy way 
is to struggle against this passion of tenderness for 
all suffering, created things, to endeavor to be wise 
and practical, and while doing everything in our 
power to alleviate all suffering and unhappiness, yet 
not to be weakened by it. 

Little Solomon had a happy life, and an almost 
painless death. There was only one thing lack- 
ing. We would like to look forward to seeing him 
again. Perhaps we shall — who knows? 



33 




CHAPTER III 

A REIGN OF ROBINS 

BOB THE FIRST, at the head of my long list of 
robins, having been killed by my pet owl, I 
very soon bought another. This one was not so 
gentle nor so handsome as Bob the First, his wings 
and his tail having their ends sawed off by contact 
with the wires of too small a cage. 

Fearing that he might be lonely in my aviary 
with only rabbits, gulneapigs, pet rats, and pigeons 
for company, I bought another robin called Dick. 
The new bird was long, straight, sharp-eyed, and 
much smarter in his movements than Bob the Sec- 
ond who, of course, considering the condition of his 

34 



A Reign of Robins 

wings and tail, could not fly, and was obliged to hop 
over the ground. 

It was very amusing to see the two robins stare at 
each other. Both had probably been trapped young, 
for at that time the law against the keeping of wild 
birds in captivity was not enforced, and boys and 
men were perniciously active in their depredations 
among our beautiful wild beauties. 

Bob the Second was very fond of stuffing himself, 
and he used to drive the pigeons from the most 
promising window ledges and partake freely of the 
food scattered about. 

Poor Dick ran about the ground looking for 
worms, and not finding many, got desperate and 
flew up to the window ledge. 

Bob lowered his head and flew at him with open 
bill. Dick snapped at him, hopped up to the food, 
and satisfied his hunger. Bob meanwhile standing 
at a little distance, a queer, pained thread of sound 
issuing from between his bill, " Peep, peep, peep ! " 

A robin is a most untidy bird while eating, and as 
often as Dick scattered a morsel of food outside the 
dish. Bob would spring forward and pick it up with 
a reproving air, as if he were saying, " What an 
extravagant fellow you are ! " 

Whenever a new bird enters an aviary, he has to 
find his place — he is just like a new-comer in a com- 
munity of human beings. Bob, being alone, was in 
the lead when Dick came. Dick, having the stronger 
bird mind, promptly dethroned him. They were 

35 



My Pets 

very amusing birds. Indeed, I find something 
clownish and comical about all robins kept in 
captivity. 

The wild bird seems to be more businesslike. The 
partly domesticated bird, having no anxiety about 
his food supply, indulges in all sorts of pranks. 
He is curious and fond of investigation, and runs 
swiftly at a new object, and as swiftly away from it, 
if it seems formidable to him. 

The arrival of new birds in the aviary always 
greatly excited Bob, and he hopped about, chirping, 
strutting, raising his head feathers, and sometimes 
acting silly with his food, just like a foolish child 
trying to " show off " before strangers. 

When I introduced a purple gallinule to him. 
Bob flew up into the air, and uttered a shriek of 
despair. He feared the gallinule, and hated the first 
Brazil cardinal I possessed, and was always sparring 
with him. One day I put a second cardinal into the 
aviary. Bob thought it was his old enemy, and ran 
full tilt at him. His face of ludicrous dismay as 
he discovered his mistake and turned away, was too 
much for me, and I burst out laughing at him. I 
don't think he minded being made fun of. He 
flirted his tail and hopped away. 

At one time Bob made up his mind that he would 
not eat crushed hemp-seed unless I mixed it with 
bread and milk, and he would throw it all out of his 
dish unless I made it in the way he liked. 

My robins have always been good-natured, and T 

36 



A Reign of Robins 

never saw one of them hurt the smallest or feeblest 
bird, though they will sometimes pretend that they 
are going to do so. 

When Bob took a sun-bath, any member of the 
family who happened to be near him would always 
be convulsed with laughter. He would stretch his 
legs far apart, stick out his ragged plumage, elevate 
his head feathers till he looked as if he had a bonnet 
on, and then half shut his eyes with the most 
ludicrous expression of robin bliss. 

All birds look more or less absurd when taking 
sun-baths. They seem to have the power to make 
each feather stand out from its neighbor. I suppose 
this is done in order that the sun may get to every 
part of the skin. 

His most amusing performance, however, took 
place when his first moulting time after he came was 
over. One by one his old, mutilated feathers 
dropped out, and finally new ones took their places. 
On a memorable day Bob discovered that he had a 
real tail with a white feather on each side of it, and 
a pair of good, serviceable wings. He gave a joyful 
cry, shook his tail as if he would uproot it, then 
spread his wings and lifted himself in the air. Hop- 
ping time was over. He was now a real bird, and 
he flew from one end of the aviary to the other 
with an unmistakable expression of robin ecstasy. 

Most unfortunately, I had not a chance to study 
poor Dick's character as fully as Bob's, for I only 
had him a short time. Both he and Bob, instead of 

37 



My Pets 

mounting to perches at night, would go to sleep on 
the windowsills, where I was afraid my pet rats 
would disturb them, as they ran about in their search 
for food. Therefore, I went into the aviary every 
evening, and lifted them up to a comfortable place 
for the night, near the hot-water pipes. I would not 
put robins in a warm place now. They are hardy 
birds, and if given a sufficient quantity of nourish- 
ing food do not need a warm sleeping-place. If 
we only had a better food supply I believe we would 
have many more wild birds with us in winter in the 
Northern States and Canada than we have now. 

Late one evening I went into the aviary to put my 
robins to bed. I could only find Bob — Dick was 
nowhere to be seen. My father and mother joined 
me in the search, and finally we found his poor, 
lifeless body near the entrance to the rats' under- 
ground nest. His head had been eaten — poor, in- 
telligent Dick; and in gazing at him, and at the 
abundance of food in the aviary, the fate of the rats 
was sealed. 

I fed my birds hard-boiled egg mashed with 
bread crumbs, crushed hemp-seed, scalded cornmeal, 
bread and milk, prepared mockingbird food, soaked 
ant eggs, all kinds of mush or " porridge," as we 
say in Canada, chopped beef, potato and gravy, 
vegetables cooked and raw, seeds and fruit, an al- 
most incredible amount of green stuff, and many 
other things — and yet the rats had found it necessary 
to commit a murder. 

38 



A Reign of Robins 

Well, they must leave the aviary, and they did, 
and for a time Bob reigned alone. I did try to bring 
up a number of young robins given to me by chil- 
dren who rescued them from cats, or who found 
them on the ground unable to fly, but for a long 
time I had very hard luck with them. 

Either the birds were diseased or I did not feed 
them properly. I have a fancy that I half starved 
them. Bird fanciers whom I consulted told me to 
be sure and not stuff my robins, for they were 
greedy birds. As long as I took their advice my 
young robins died. When I went to my canaries for 
advice I saw that the parents watched the tiny 
heads folded like flowers too heavy for their stalks, 
over the little warm bodies in the nests. 

The instant a head was raised the mother or 
father put a mouthful of warm egg-food in it. The 
little ones got all they would eat — indeed, the father, 
with food dripping from his mouth, would coax his 
nestlings to take just one beakful more. I smiled 
broadly and began to give my robins all the worms 
they wanted, and then they lived. 

The bringing up of young birds is intensely inter- 
esting. I found that one reason why early summer 
is the favorite time for nest-making is because one 
has the short nights then. Parents can feed their 
young quite late in the evening and be up by early 
daylight to fill the little crops again. Robins are 
birds that like to sit up late, and are always the last 
to go to bed in the aviary. 

39 



My Pets 

I solved the difficulty of rising at daylight to feed 
any young birds I was bringing up by giving them 
a stuffing at eleven o'clock at night. Then I did not 
have to rise till nearly eight. 

This, of course, was for healthy birds. If I had 
a sick guineapig, rabbit, or bird, I never hesitated to 
get up many times during the night, for I have a 
theory that men and women who cannot or will not 
undertake the moral responsibility of bringing up 
children, should at least assist in the rearing of 
some created thing, if it is only a bird. Otherwise 
they become egotistical and absorbed in self. 



40 




CHAPTER IV 



A NAUGHTY MOCKINGBIRD 



AMONG the young robins I had given me was 
one that was found sitting helplessly under 
some trees. 

" I think I will try my solitary Bob with this one," 
I said, and I took it to the aviary and put it on the 
ground. 

The baby robin that had been reserved and sulky 
with me, wildly flapped his tiny wings when he saw 
Bob, and ran after him screaming for food. 

Bob stopped short, wheeled round, searching for 
worms, and diligently stuffed the little fellow, who 
followed him as closely as his shadow. 

41 



My Pets 

I was delighted with the success of my experi- 
ment, but received a shock a Httle later on going into 
the basement to find the wet, bedraggled body of 
my poor baby robin in the pigeon's big bathtub. 
He must have fluttered in while following Bob, 
his foster parent, about, and the puzzled Bob did 
not know how to get him out. 

As I picked up the body and held him in my hand, 
a workman who was busy about some repairs in the 
basement, said solemnly, " It's drowned ! " There 
was no doubt about it. I had lost my little bird, and 
now there was nothing but the burial. 

Another little robin soon took its place. This one 
I promptly gave to Bob, and met with a surprise. 
The young one fluttered its little wings, ran after 
Bob with appealing cries to which a deaf ear was 
turned. Why would he not feed it? 

" You selfish bird," I said, and I fed the robin 
myself. 

Bob said nothing, but looked wise, and in a short 
time my baby robin was in a dying condition, crying 
and fluttering his little wings to the last, as if he saw 
the loving mother bird approaching with her bill 
full of food. 

. Had Bob refused to feed it because it was dis- 
eased ? I fancied he had, for I usually find that birds 
know a good deal more about each other than I 
know about them. 

Bob certainly knew a good deal more about him- 
self than I did, for he soon gave me another sur- 

42 



A Naughty Mockingbird 

prise. The basement aviary was just under my 
study and my father's. Above the studies was a 
roof-veranda, and beyond the veranda was a sun- 
room. The veranda and sun-room were wired in 
so that the birds could not get out, but as there was 
no access to them through the studies, a narrow 
well or elevator, as we called it, had been built at 
the back of the house. 

The birds went up and down this elevator like 
flashes of color, and seemed to enjoy the fun. Some 
of the-m preferred to sleep above, some below. 

Among those that liked the roof-veranda was my 
long-legged gallinule. I had built him a nice broad 
nest in a sheltered place, and one summer night, to 
my amazement, I saw Bob hanging about him and 
giving him such plain hints to vacate the nest that 
at last the gallinule, being a gentlemanly bird, 
stepped oif it and allowed Bob to step on. 

I could not imagine why Bob was doing this curi- 
ous thing. He had never made a' nest nor slept in a 
nest, and had always perched on a branch. How- 
ever, I made a practice of not interfering with my 
birds any more than I could help and, promising 
the gallinule a new nest on the morrow, I left them. 

The next morning Bob stepped off the nest with 
such an air of importance that I hurriedly ap- 
proached and looked in it. There lay a fine big 
robin's egg, and convulsed with laughter, I ran to 
proclaim the news to the family, " Old Bob the 
Second is not a male robin ; he is a female." 

43 



My Pets 

Everybody came and stared, and Bob was the 
center of attraction for some time to come. She laid 
two other eggs and sat on them, and they amounted 
to nothing, whereupon she deserted the galHnule's 
nest and built one for herself. She sat on this one 
about three weeks, then deserted it and the three 
blue eggs and built another. This too was unprofit- 
able, and she built another nest, and another, and 
another, until late autumn put an end to her nest- 
making. 

During that and successive summers I got to 
dread the time of nestmaking. I used to think I 
gave her plenty of mud, but there was rarely 
enough. She built a large, strong nest on some flat 
foundation, or in the forked branches of the firs 
and spruces I had standing about the aviary and 
roof veranda. When the mud gave out she mixed 
porridge with earth and soaked strips of paper 
in the water dishes. She kept things in a great 
mess, flinging sods of earth about, also sticks, straws, 
and feathers. While building the foundation she 
was always very dirty. After every beakful of soft 
substance was stuck round the framework, she 
would settle down in the middle of it, press her 
breast hard against the edge, and wheel round and 
round to keep the shape. 

The most of her nests were built in the basement, 
and it was very amusing to see her hurry up the 
elevator to the roof-veranda, dart about there, and 
stuflf her bill full of straws and grass, then start 

44 



A Naughty Mockingbird 

downward with a train of nest-material floating 
behind her. The soft, flexible grass was for the 
lining of the nest — the receptacle for her three 
precious blue eggs. 

I used to pity Bob in her solitary nestmaking, and 
sometimes she gazed wistfully at the Virginian and 
Brazil cardinals and acted as if she wished they 
would both help her. They both disHked her, and 
having mates of their own, chased her away every 
time she went near them. 

Sometimes I teased her by going up to the nest 
and telling her that she might as well give up — her 
eggs would amount to nothing. She would fly into 
a rage and take my fingers in her bill and scold, 
and sometimes scream at me. 

However, a companion was on his way to her. 
A year later I had sent to me a fine mockingbird — 
" the bird of four hundred tongues," as the Mex- 
icans call him. He was a beauty, and quite an 
acrobat, for he would go to the top of the elevator 
and turn over and over in the air, flirting wings and 
tail as if to show the pretty white feathers in them. 
Bob took quite a fancy to this new bird, whom I 
named Dan, and soon a peculiar, querulous, uncom- 
fortable sort of affection sprang up between them. 

Dan used to sing a most fantastic song to her that 
sounded like " Git bang, git bang, cheer up, cheer 
up, meow, meow, meow ! " varying it by imitations 
of the songs of other birds in the aviary, and also 
by the squealing of the guineapigs. 

45 



My Pets 

One day he got behind me and mimicked a guinea- 
pig in distress so cleverly that I turned round to aid 
it, but found only Dan with his mocking, inscrutable 
eye fixed on me. 

Writes a sweet singer: 

List to that bird, his song, what poet pens it? 

Brigand of birds, he's stolen every note. 
Prince though of thieves — look how the rascal spends it — 

Pours the whole forest from one tiny throat. 

Dan's affection for Bob was somewhat fitful. 
He flew about with her sometimes, and sometimes he 
took no notice of her beyond lowering his head and 
giving a spiteful hiss when she went near him. 
However, he would not allow any bird to disturb 
her in her nestmaking, and once when she deserted 
a nest and began to build a new one, he sat on the 
deserted one until two ringdoves drove him away 
and took possession of it themselves. 

It was not long before I discovered that Dan's 
beautiful skin covered one of the naughtiest bird 
hearts I had ever known. He was so clever though, 
about the mischief he performed, that I rarely found 
him out until it was too late to punish him for it. I 
often used to shut him up in the owl's cage for 
punishment, and I felt convinced that he knew what 
he went in there for, as he was always better after 
coming out. 

His wickedness consisted in persistent bullying. 
He was no fighter. His slender body and bill pro- 

46 



A Naughty Mockingbird 

claimed that. His chief pleasure in life was to 
mischievously frighten birds from their food. 

Sometimes he would select a bird as large as a 
pigeon. I have seen a big fantail spring from the 
ground in nervous terror when Dan, with a mena- 
cing hiss, came rushing at him from some sheltered 
nook. 

His attacks were always in the rear, when it was 
a case of a large bird. If he had dared to attack the 
pigeon in front, the big fellow would have given him 
a disdainful peck. 

One day I found a Java sparrow dead in a box 
beside her nest full of eggs. Poor little mother bird ! 
Here was some tragedy. I picked up her emaciated 
body, and watched her mate. 

He was thin and nervous in appearance, and ta- 
king advantage of my appearance in the aviary, was 
trying to pick up some of the white French millet 
seeds, of which he was very fond. He was mean- 
while keeping a wary eye on Dan, who did not dare 
to attack him in my presence. 

I read the whole story. The little mother had 
succumbed first, for the times of eating would be 
few and far between, compared with those of her 
mate. She had died for her nest — had sat on the 
eggs till her half-starved condition forced her to 
succumb. I gave Dan a wrathful glance and took 
the male Java to a sunny room upstairs, where he 
soon became as fat as a partridge. 



47 





«*-v;i":r.-.':vi^ 







CHAPTER V 

A ROBIN AND SPARROW FRIENDSHIP 

ANOTHER one of Dan's victims was a pine 
grosbeak, a most amiable, gentle bird that I 
rescued from a small cage in a bird-store. 

My grosbeak was a greenish-gray bird, with a 
stout beak and intelligent eyes. More than any bird 
I had ever had, did her expression remind me of 
that on the face of a human being. I scarcely looked 
at her without thinking of a friend — a handsome 
woman with a well-developed nose. I never had a 
gentler, kinder bird, nOr one that became tame in so 
short a time. She loved human society, and would 
follow any of the family about, perching on our 

48 



A Robin and Sparrow Friendship 

heads or shoulders and taking seeds from our lips. 
Indeed, she soon became so tame that she would 
take food from the hands of utter strangers. 

One pretty trick she had was to go sailing on the 
blocks of wood that I put in the big water dishes 
for the little birds to light on. The grosbeak took 
the greatest delight in perching on these blocks and 
floating from one side of a dish to the other. 

I knew that the mockingbird did not like her, but 
she was so large — about eight inches long, and had 
such a stout beak that I knew he could not hurt her, 
and I hoped she would get over her dread of him. 
She did not. He frightened her, and made her feel 
so timid in the basement that she took to sleeping 
in the elevator. Then she began to come up on the 
veranda, and if the gate leading to it were closed 
she would stand beside it and tap on the wire till 
I let her in. 

At last I took her upstairs, and there she had a 
happy winter, though she never seamed very strong. 
One day I was amused to see her sitting beside my 
sister, who was cracking sunflower seeds for her — 
the grosbeak being either too lazy or too miserable 
that day to do it for herself. My sister would open 
the seed and give the grosbeak the contents. The 
grosbeak watched her intently, and if ever so small 
a piece fell on the floor she would fly down and 
pick it up. 

As a family, the grosbeaks are very trustful birds, 
and are said to stare at a hunter approaching them 
D 49 



My Pets 

with a gun, and will continue to stare, even after he 
has shot down one or more. They are extremely 
affectionate with each other, and one grosbeak has 
been known to follow its mate into captivity. 

However, they are not foolish birds, judging 
from the one I had. She was sweet and trusting, 
but also intelligent. When the early summer came 
she died, to the very great regret of the whole 
family, and I always blamed Dan for undermining 
her constitution by his bullying. 

I had, however, become foolishly fond of this 
bird, and could not bear to part with him, and 
kept him in my aviary until this autumn, when I 
made up my mind that he was really too bad to be 
left at home without my supervision. 

I sent him to an aviary where he would have more 
room than with me, and would be with larger birds. 
When the first reports came from him, one of the 
family remarked that handsome Dan always fell 
on his feet. He was getting special care and at- 
tention, but — and I could not help smiling — one 
bird had singled him out for persecution, as he had 
so often singled out weaker ones for persecution 
in his day. Dan's enemy was an English blackbird, 
who was pursuing him so relentlessly that one of 
her flight feathers had to be pulled out so that she 
could not catch up to him. I hope this affliction 
may make him a better bird, and may cause him to 
reflect that there is a great law of retribution in the 
bird as well as in the human world. 

50 



A Robin and Sparrow Friendship 

To return to the robins — Bob went on with her 
nestmaking, and soon I had another robin brought 
to me who grew up to look so much Hke her that 
she was a veritable Bob the Third, This baby robin 
was about the best one I ever brought up. It was the 
same old story — fallen from the nest, no parents 
near, and cats abounding, so I adopted the little 
Bobbie, carried her about on my finger, and as the 
house was full of company took her every night in 
one hand, and her dish of worms in the other, down- 
stairs in my father's study to sleep on a big sofa 
bed. 

The walls were lined with books, and pulling out 
one from its fellows I would put Bobbie on it. 
There she sat all night, but when daylight came she 
began to chirp politely and remind me that a hungry 
robin was near. This bird was never one bit of 
trouble. At one time I left her to go to the country 
to buy a farm. She took her food from my sister, 
and later on, when I moved all my birds to the 
farmhouse, she settled down in her rooms there, as 
if she had always been accustomed to them. 

I kept her a year, then opening the door, told her 
to fly outside if she wished. She did wish, and 
calmly went to the flower garden, hopped about 
there for a while, followed the men plowing near- 
by, then accepting the advances made to her by a 
respectable-looking wild robin, built a nest on one 
of the house windows, raised a family of young 
robins, and I hope, went south with them when 

51 



My Pets 

autumn came, for I have seen nothing of her 
since. 

My next robin was my beloved Dixie, and I have 
had him only a few months. During June of the 
year 1907 I saw, on looking out of the windows o^ 
the little sun-room on the top of the house, that 
a pair of robins had built a nest at the back of the 
box on a tall telephone post near-by. They seemed 
to have young ones on one side of it, and a pair of 
sparrows seemed to have their young ones on the 
other side. 

I kept watch, and soon I saw the old robins going 
in and out with worms hanging from their beaks. 
At night the mother robin would sit on the nest, and 
the father would perch in a tall tree across the street. 
He might have sat close to her, if our beautiful big 
elms in front of the house had not been killed by 
some mysterious disease. 

One June day, as I sat writing in my study, I 
heard a pair of birds having hysterics in our garden, 
and springing up, I went to the window. They 
were robins of course — it seems to me that of all 
the birds I know, the robin is the most noisy and 
fussy when danger threatens him. Instead of keep- 
ing still, which might have enabled them to have 
their little nestling with them, they were yelling at 
the tops of their voices because he had flown into 
the garden and could not get out. Therefore, at 
their outcry, a ring of little faces surrounded the 
fluttering baby. 

52 



A Robin and Sparrow Friendship 

" Please go away, children," I called out, and 
they obediently disappeared. 

" Now," I reflected, " if I can only keep the cats 
off!" 

By some miracle, the cats did not enter our gar- 
den that morning, but I was sorry to see that the 
little robin could not rise higher than the fence. 
The parents were too frightened to feed him there, 
and at last I went out and tried to catch him. 

In vain — I, of course, was as formidable to him 
as a cat, and when he saw me coming he managed 
to flutter over the fence into the street, and to the 
low branch of a tree. I promptly returned to the 
house, and in a few minutes he was in the garden 
again. I tried not to watch him. The cats would 
soon get him — and what was one robin more or less, 
anyway ? 

It was a good deal — it was the whole world to me 
that morning, and any bird-lover will understand 
my feelings. I would write a little, then would 
hurry to the window to see that no enemy came 
near that precious baby bird. I admired his calm- 
ness. He sat all the morning on a fence-post, and 
only toward noon did he slip under some raspberry 
bushes. I hoped that his parents might find him 
there, but I doubted it, and with a sinking heart I 
went away to fulfil an engagement. 

I could not keep the stoical little birdie out of my 
thoughts, and the sequel to his story is as strange 
as a made-up one. 

53 



My Pets 

At dusk I returned home, and on going upstairs 
was surprised to hear a loud robin-chirp near me. 
I followed the sound, and there, sitting in the mid- 
dle of the upstairs bathroom floor, stoical no longer, 
but clamorous, now that no cats were near, was my 
robin baby of the morning. 

" You blessed thing ! " I exclaimed, catching him 
up. " However did you get in here ? " 

I looked at the window. It was screened, as were 
all the windows in the house, to keep the birds in, 
and the cats out. The little fellow, when night 
came on, had been warned by his instinct to get up 
high. He had flown or scrambled up the side of 
the house, perhaps by means of an ash tree trained 
against the wall, and had gone up the screen, and 
then down, where it did not quite fit against the 
sash. 

I had never had a bird perform such a feat, and 
I said soberly to him, " Providence has delivered 
you into my hands." 

He looked distrustfully at me. He did not care 
much for me in those days, but in his hunger he 
soon forgot his shyness. His poor little crop was 
quite empty. I fed him all he would eat, and in a 
few days he had forgotten his parents, and fluttered 
his little wings, and called for food whenever he 
saw me coming. 

I called him Dixie, and put him in a cage with a 
young sparrow that a boy had brought me a few 
days before, saying that a painter had sent it. The 

54 



A Robin and Sparrow Friendship 

man had been at work on a house, and this young 
one had fallen out of its nest. He was so young 
that he soon forgot his parents, and, like the robin, 
shook his wings when he saw me coming, and called 
for food. 

Amusing to relate, the little sparrow took a vio- 
lent fancy to the robin, and looking upon him as a 
second parent, followed him all about the cage 
begging for food. The young robin was dreadfully 
embarrassed. He could not feed himself — how 
could he feed another bird? Sometimes when the 
sparrow's pursuit grew too hot, he would stop run- 
ning, and turning, would face the smaller bird with 
wide-open bill, as if to say, *' Look for yourself — 
there is no food in there." 

The sparrow was not to be reasoned with. He 
never stopped his pursuit of the robin, except to 
rest. At first I permitted it, for it gave them both 
exercise. Then, when the exercise increased till it 
became over-exertion, I took them both out of the 
cage and put them on the roof-veranda. By this 
time the sparrow could feed himself, but the robin 
could not. With strange inconsistency, the smaller 
bird would stuff himself with bread and milk, or 
egg-food, then he would run after the robin with his 
cry of, '' More, more ! " 

The poor robin would run from one side of the 
veranda to the other, skipping over food and water 
dishes, and occasionally stopping short, and turning 
on the sparrow with wide-open bill. 

55 



My Pets 

The sparrow never gave up the chase until Dixie 
eluded him by slipping into some hiding-place. 
Then he would go all about, peering into corners 
with his sharp Httle eyes till he found him. 

I have heard strangers utter shrieks of laughter 
at this peculiar pursuit of the robin by the sparrow. 
When these two birds grew older it was just as 
amusing, for then they flew from place to place. 



56 




CHAPTER VI 



DIXIE AND TARDY 



WHEN Dixie was about three weeks old he be- 
came afflicted by a cough. He had a mania 
for bathing. I could not keep him out of the water 
dishes. He was soaked from morning till night, 
and finally he sounded like a consumptive robin. I 
tried shutting him in a cage, but that fretted him; 
and when he came out he was more anxious to 
bathe than ever. The cough hung about him for 
weeks, and I made up my mind that I was going to 
lose him, but he finally recovered from it. 

I used to hear him coughing at night, for I slept 
in a room opening off the roof-veranda. I would 

57 



My Pets 

put my head out the doorway in the morning, and 
say, ''Well, Dixie, how is the cough?" He knew 
quite well that I was addressing him, and would 
give a little croupy bark in answer. I became so 
fond of him, and his cough clung to him so late in 
the season, that I resolved to keep him. Not so 
with the sparrow. I thought it would be better to 
let him go, and one day I put him outside the wire 
netting. 

I never saw a more surprised bird. He had for- 
gotten the nest on the side of the house, the tiny, 
sooty parent-birds. The robin was his father, his 
mother, his world. He ran to and fro over the 
wire netting, he looked down at his friend, at the 
nice food and the fresh seeds, and his regret was 
so keen, that I said consolingly, " If you keep that 
up, Httle fellow, I will let you come back again." 

I always keep a certain amount of food outside 
the aviary for street sparrows and pigeons, so the 
little exile did not suffer, and in time he forgot the 
robin, and only occasionally visited him. 

Dixie grew and flourished, and is now a very 
fine-looking bird. A few weeks ago he began to 
practise some fine rolling notes that promise a fine 
singer. He stopped singing when I put him into 
the warm basement for the winter. He was very 
indignant, and shook his tail as he talked to me 
about taking him off the roof-veranda. 

I remonstrated with him, and told him of his 
weak throat, and that I wished him to get perfectly 

58 



Dixie and Tardy 

strong during the winter, so that next spring he 
might fly away with the wild birds if he wished to 
do so. He looked as if he understood. He is a very 
intelligent bird, and when he wishes to dig worms 
that are beneath his reach, he lets me know it. 

I found this out one evening, when I had forgot- 
ten to go at dusk and dig him his final supper. I 
had taken a book, and was lying on a sofa in the 
veranda-room, when I was aware that a very dis- 
consolate little figure was staring at me through the 
glass, 

" What is the matter, Dixie ? " I asked. 

He at once flew to his box of worms, and taking 
the hint, I went out and dug some. 

I must put the digging of worms in the past 
tense. Dixie has lately refused to eat them. That 
happens with every robin I have possessed. Old 
Bob gave up eating worms long ago. Robins seem 
to like egg-food, bread and milk, meat, and almost 
any kind of civilized food better than angleworms. 
They will all eat mealworms — the fat, yellowish 
worms that are raised especially for birds, but the 
plebeian earthworms they soon tire of. Evidently 
they do not require them, for Bob is in excellent 
condition, making seven and eight nests a summer, 
and being, I do not know how many years old. I 
have had her for nearly seven. 

Last, and best loved of my robins, because I 
snatched him from the jaws of death, is Tardy — so 
named because he was a late autumn baby, being 

59 



My Pets 

brought to me on the fifth of September. He was 
plump and well-favored when he came, but I made 
the same mistake with him that I made with Dixie — 
I let him bathe too early. 

It is a most amusing thing to see a robin with 
his first bath. He is never surprised at worms. 
They come as a matter of course. But put a dish 
of water in his cage. He has never had water 
before, except from a medicine-dropper. He stares 
at this little bathtub. What is that glittering in it? 

He springs forward to investigate, runs backward 
in fear of the gleaming, shimmering liquid. What 
can it be! He plucks up courage, and bravely 
strikes the edge of the dish. It does not strike 
back. He becomes bolder, and dabs his beak in the 
center. What is this flying into his eyes? He 
chokes, coughs, gets a drop of the liquid down his 
throat, tastes, swallows, and runs at it again. 

" Hooray ! " he chirps in robin joy. " It is fine ! 
I'll get into it," and down he goes, and the happy 
beholder of a robin's first bath has hard work to 
suppress a peal of laughter. 

No boy with his first pants, first pony, or first 
anything, can excel the joy of a young robin with 
his first bath — and like a too-indulgent parent, I 
made the same mistake with Tardy that I did with 
Dixie, and let him have as many as he liked. 

It seemed incredible to me that wild birds could 
or would bathe too much. Yet they do, and too late 
I shut Tardy up and took his bath away. The mis- 

60 



Dixie and Tardy 

chief had been done, and I suppose my little bird 
really had something like pneumonia. 

I was quite upset about his illness, and made up 
my mind that he should not die, if I could make him 
live. I have nursed many birds and animals, had 
many a stubborn fight with their king of terrors, 
but I never had such hard work to keep breath in 
a little bird's body as I had with Tardy. 

He became hollow-chested and emaciated, the 
feathers came out of his head. He was bald while 
yet a baby, his long legs made him look as if he 
were on stilts, he coughed persistently, he became 
snappish and peevish, and sometimes refused to eat. 

Night after night I got up every few hours, and 
coaxed him to take something, for he was like a 
weak patient that would die if left too long without 
nourishment. 

" I won't," he .would snap angrily, as I oflfered 
him a worm at two p. m. 

" Oh, please," I would cpax him. " Good 
Tardy ! " 

" Well, just to oblige you," he would seem to say 
at last, and the worm would go down. 

" Now another. Tardy boy." 

" I will not," and this tone was final. 

Then I had to open his beak, and he would cough 
and nearly choke, and I would feel that I was kill- 
ing him, and would glance toward the chloroform 
bottle that I kept standing near him, for I was re- 
solved not to let him suffer too much. 

6i 



My Pets 

I never chloroform an animal or bird that has a 
chance to get well, even if it undergoes some suffer- 
ing in the process. Often, as I sit by some intelli- 
gent, suffering creature, I try to express to it in 
some way the hope that it will have courage to 
endure bravely — just as one says to a human being, 
" Bear up — be courageous — your pain will soon be 
over." 

When one speaks in this way, it is touching to see 
how responsive are the members of the lower crea- 
tion. Naturally, if their sufferings are too great, 
they are, like us, utterly oblivious of what goes on 
around them. But, if there is only intermittent 
pain, they seem to appreciate one's sympathy. 

Tardy's illness made him very intelligent and very 
dependent on me, but the time came when I thought 
he ought to feed himself. 

I can always tell by the length of a young robin's 
tail when he is old enough to look after his own 
food supply, but Tardy's tail grew until it was 
almost as long as an old bird's, yet he would not 
eat a morsel himself. He would fly at me on the 
rare occasions when he wanted food, would scream, 
peck at me, and go to his dish of worms. 

I would take a spoon, lift a worm, and say, 
" There it is, pick it up for yourself." 

He would put his head on one side, and stare at 
it, knowing quite well what I meant, but would not 
touch it. 

Then I would relent and hand it to him, and if it 

62 



Dixie and Tardy 

was neither too long nor too short, nor too fat nor 
too lean, he would take it. 

He was, as indeed most robins are, a very ex- 
travagant bird, and would eat some worms and 
throw the rest about. 

Sometimes I had hard work to find boys to dig 
worms for me, but no matter how busy or how tired 
I was, the supply must be kept up, for while he was 
young he liked nothing else. 

He was a very nervous bird, and I never caught 
him sleeping, no matter how quietly I stole into the 
room. This was unnatural. A young bird should 
not do much else but sleep and eat. To my great 
joy, the cough, after a time, began to leave him, and 
he condescended occasionally to feed himself. 

When I found I was obliged to leave home I did 
considerable worrying about my sick robin. How- 
ever, a kind maid that I had had on my farm prom- 
ised to take the best of care of him, and after laying 
in a stock of worms, and engaging a boy to bring 
more, I came away. 

This maid writes me constantly about all my 
birds. Of Tardy she remarks, " The Robin in the 
Chage is a verry dirty Bird. I can't keep him clean, 
and if I give him a paper in his Chage he will tear 
it up. He eats Lamb now and Ant eggs. The 
Feathers are growing on his Head." 

After hearing this, I wrote her to put him in the 
aviary, where I hope he will make friends with Bob 
and Dixie, and spend a happy winter. 

63 



My Pets 

My only regret is, that during my absence, my 
little bird will lose his pretty, affectionate ways. He 
will never again call to me, nor take my fingers in 
his beak and play with them. Nor will he strike me 
— but perhaps it is just as well that he should take 
his rightful place, as a plain, unaccomplished robin. 

The Tardy who was afraid of all other birds, 
who was so nervous that he would not eat if I 
took a stranger in his room, was not in his proper 
sphere. The new Tardy will, I hope, be a strong 
bird, able to fly away with his fellows when the 
lovely springtime comes. 

I used to have a great Hking for, and approval 
of, accomplished pets in the lower creation. Now, 
unless in exceptional circumstances, I would rather 
see an animal or a bird live his own life in the 
sphere in which God has placed him. 

The trained birds and animals that used to give 
me so much pleasure are now distressing sights to 
me. Why should little canaries be taught to wear 
jackets, and fire cannon, and draw little carts? 
They don't like it — they can't like it. Those actions 
are contrary to bird nature. They were created 
birds. Why not let them be birds? Bird intelli- 
gence is not human intelligence, and it seems foolish 
to try and wrest it into a semblance of ours. 

I now let my pets do just exactly what they wish 
to do in the line of accomplishments. I always 
carry on a certain amount of supervision and disci- 
pline in the way of not allowing them to injure 

64 



Dixie and Tardy 

each other, but they do no tricks, unless they fall 
into them naturally. 

It used to be a great pleasure to us as a family 
to teach our dogs tricks. Now we allow them to be 
plain dogs, unless they pick up certain intelligent 
ways. The sight of trained dogs is now almost a 
revolting one to me. No one can persuade me that 
dogs like to do the unnatural things required of 
them. 



E 65 




CHAPTER VII 

RABBITS AND GUINEAPIGS 

ONE of the first inhabitants of my aviary in 
Halifax was a spotted rabbit. 
I had always been fond of rabbits. My parents 
had kept them for my brothers when we were chil- 
dren, and during my stay in California I had had 
a pet pair that I obtained one day in an absent- 
minded way. 

I was going shopping in Berkeley, and my sister 
said, " We need a coffeepot. I wish you would 
bring one home." When I returned she asked for 
the coffeepot, and I was obliged to confess that I 
had forgotten it, but I had bought a fine pair of 
rabbits instead. 

66 



Rabbits and Guineapigs 

These two became great pets, and used to play 
about the yard with my gentle dog, Nita, but I had 
to give them away when I left Berkeley. On reach- 
ing Halifax, I at once got this little spotted animal, 
and subsequently bought a pretty gray one to bear 
him company. 

My poor spotted rabbit did not live long. One of 
our fox-terriers, Jim by name, a young, enthusiastic 
romp, played so hard with him that he injured him. 
I put the unfortunate little creature in a box where 
he lay turning from side to side for a day, and then, 
in spite of brandy and oil administered in small 
doses, he died. 

I have never yet found that brandy helped a sick 
bird or animal. Warm milk and oil are now my 
stimulants — that is, for simple ailments. For com- 
plicated cases, I consult our family physician, who 
is most kind in prescribing for my pets. 

The boy from whom I bought the spotted rabbit 
said that a sick rabbit Is a dead rabbit. I disproved 
this later, but by the death of this spotted one I 
painfully added to my stock of knowledge, and I 
resolved that never again would I allow a rabbit to 
play with a puppy as rough as the lively Jim. 

After the death of Spotty, Rab, the gray one, 
seemed lonely with only birds for companions, so I 
decided I would get her some gunineapigs to play 
with, and accordingly ransacked the city for them. 

I could find none, but one day two little girls 
came to our door and asked for me. " Would you 

67 



My Pets 

— would you," they said in choked voices, " take 
our dear little guineapig? We know you want one, 
and we think ours would have a better home with 
you than with us." 

" My dear children," I replied, " I could not think 
of taking your guineapig from you. Why, you are 
almost crying at the thought of parting from it." 

" Oh ! we want you to have it," they said, " but 
please don't think we want to get rid of her. We 
just love her, but we know you will love her better, 
and it is our duty to do what is best for her, and 
not to think of our own pleasure." 

Charmed with these children, whose grandfather 
I found had been a Canadian naturalist, who had 
built aviaries and houses for birds and animals in 
his park, I said, " Well, you may bring Guinea to 
me, but only as a loan. I will give her back to you 
in the spring." 

The little girls thanked me heartily, and said, 
" Now she will not be lonely. We have to keep her 
in our basement when we are away at school, and 
sometimes we think she is cold." 

I told them that our basement contained plenty 
of hot-water pipes, and that I hoped the rabbit 
would be a good friend to their Piggy. 

They went away, and some days later, when I was 
not at home, they arrived with the pig in a basket. 

Lizzie doubtfully took the basket up to my 
mother, who was in bed. 

'' A peeg for Miss Marshall." 

68 



Rabbits and Guineapigs 

My long-suffering mother, accustomed to a great 
variety of pets in times past, had never yet had a 
pig foisted upon her, though she had put up with a 
snake. 

" A pig ! " she exclaimed, " in that basket ! It 
must be a young one. Put your hand in, Lizzie." 

Lizzie, though usually demure and obedient, flatly 
refused, whereupon my mother said, " Perhaps there 
is some mistake. If my daughter intended to have 
a pig, she would have got a larger one than this. 
Tell the little girls they may leave it, if they like, 
but perhaps it would be safer to call again with it." 

The little girls refused most decidedly to leave 
the pig, and when I came home I felt badly, know- 
ing that they must have been disappointed. 

The next day I hastened to their house, and their 
mother told me some interesting stories with regard 
to her children's fondness for pets. 

On one occasion they had taken this same little 
guineapig to the country, and had one afternoon 
gone four miles from home. Rather than spend the 
night away from their little pet, they walked back 
the four miles to get to her. 

I waited until they arrived from school, and see- 
ing me, they ran to get Piggy, who was a pretty, 
broken-colored, short-haired English pig that had 
been brought to them from the West Indies. 

With some trepidation I saw this precious pig 
put into a basket and entrusted to my care. On ar- 
riving home I carried her to the aviary, where my 

69 



My Pets 

solitary rabbit was rambling alone, and put her on 
the ground. 

Happy little Guinea — she had lived so long away 
from other animals that she fell into an ecstasy on 
seeing Rab, and with grunts and squeals of delight 
ran about the aviary just as fast as her short legs 
would carry her. 

Rab stopped short, stared at the demonstrative 
stranger, then, to my mingled amusement and dis- 
may, gave her a decided kick. 

The unfortunate Guinea drew back. Such a hint 
was not to be misunderstood. However, she con- 
tinued to follow and admire the unfeeling Rab at a 
distance, Rab, meanwhile, pretending neither to see 
her nor to hear her. I pitied Guinea so much that 
I began to ransack the city for other guineapigs. 

One day a boy told me to go to Grafton Street, 
and in a house there I found a woman with a fam- 
ily of children. 

I asked them whether they had guineapigs. 

They said yes, they had some nice white prize 
pigs, and they would be glad to part from some of 
them, for the winter was coming on, and hungry 
rats had already devoured several of the little ones. 

One of the boys ran out and brought in three 
little pigs, very unlike my dark Guinea, for these 
were white, with long hair all blown the wrong 
way, as if they had been out in a gale of wind. 
" Abyssinian," I believe is the name of this kind of 
pig. The Peruvians have still longer hair. 

70 



Rabbits and Guineapigs 

It seems that guineapigs have nothing to do with 
Guinea, and are not pigs at all. They are derived 
from the wild cavy, and were domesticated by the 
Mexicans of Peru. The Dutch introduced them 
into Europe during the sixteenth century, where 
they became great pets with children on account 
of their gentleness and pretty ways. 

My mother, upon my arriving home with three 
more pigs, was astonished but resigned, and soon 
they became her special pets. I had now four, and 
my Guinea was in pig raptures that sent all the 
family into fits of laughter. Like a train of little 
cars, they ran along the path and up the bank, and 
over the bank, and down again on the earth floor of 
the aviary. Their little bodies were elongated, their 
feet were barely visible, and at frequent intervals 
they raised their heads, and uttered queer, piercing 
squeals of delight. Sometimes they made a curious 
continued sound like the running of a sewing-ma- 
chine. The squeals came in moments of excitement, 
particularly when it was mealtime. 

They liked bread and milk, hay, oats, and corn, 
and all kinds of vegetables. They also drank water. 
My rabbits too have liked water, and my experience 
with animals and birds has taught me always to 
keep fresh water before them. If they don't like 
it, they won't drink it. 

I have heard some persons say that guineapigs 
are stupid. I never found mine stupid. I never 
saw an animal suffer more from homesickness than 

71 



My Pets 

one of these Abyssinian guineapigs called Tiny. 
Later on, I had more rabbits, and one day I took 
Tiny from the aviary and put her in the furnace- 
room to bear company to a sick rabbit. This little 
white rabbit aifectionately licked his guineapig 
friend, but Tiny was so ill, and so frightened with 
him, that I took compassion on her, and put her 
back with her companions. 

She was so supremely happy to get back, and so 
excited that she could not eat, and when a guinea- 
pig or any other kind of a pig cannot eat, it is very 
deeply moved. Scampering to and fro over the 
earth, she smelled food-dishes, boxes, and the barrel 
laid on its side that was her bedroom. That 
showed her love of locality. Then she saluted her 
little friends with nose-touchings and piggy yells 
of bliss, and finally fell soberly to munching hay. 

I suppose one should strive against the tendency 
to humanize birds and animals, yet one cannot help 
admiring and sympathizing when one finds them 
showing like qualities with ourselves. Take this 
capacity for homesickness, for example. Apart 
from the torture of captivity, experienced by a wild 
bird when caged even in a large place, there is a dis- 
like on the part of birds and animals that are recon- 
ciled to a state of captivity to being moved from 
one place to another. Some time ago I was visiting 
an aviary, and while waiting for the curator had 
some conversation with a pair of cockatoos that 
were walking in and out of his office, apparently 

72 



Rabbits and Guineapigs 

very much at home. One of them started to gnaw 
the scrap basket to pieces, and when I advised him 
to desist, lest his master should be angry with him, 
he gave me a peculiarly intelligent glance, and 
walked out of the room. 

When the curator arrived, he told me the birds 
were suffering from homesickness. Wishing to 
have some repairs made in their large cage, he had 
moved them to another, where they pined visibly, 
and at last became ill. Being great pets, he was 
keeping them with him; and after a time, I was 
pleased to hear, they both recovered. 

To return to the guineapigs — to those persons 
who insist on saying they are stupid, I would like 
to state that I never saw any animal or any bird 
kinder to the young of other animals or birds than 
those same guineapigs. 

I have seen human mothers kind and devoted to 
their own children, and to say the least of it, neg- 
lectful and egotistical when it came to the offspring 
of others. I have seen dogs, cats, and birds abso- 
lutely hateful to the young of their own kind. I 
never saw, even an old grandfather guineapig, in 
any way intentionally injure or molest a baby 
guineapig, or any other kind of a baby. I have seen 
them go round them or over them, but never bite, or 
push, or snarl, or snap at young ones. Occasionally, 
I have known old pigs to kill young ones acciden- 
tally, on account of their love of sociability. 

They all slept in barrels with plenty of news- 

73 



My Pets 

papers and straw to keep the young ones warm, and 
as they were very fond of calling on each other, 
particularly when there was the excitement of twins 
or triplets in a family, they would sometimes crowd 
too closely in a barrel, and smother a baby to death. 



74 




CHAPTER VIII 



MY PET RATS 



I WAS very much interested in these baby guinea- 
pigs, and was very much surprised to find them 
so fully developed at birth. Tiny and Guinea had 
families about the same time, and I found all the 
little pigs with pretty, soft-haired bodies, open eyes, 
and their teeth through, the milk teeth being already 
shed. In a few hours they could run by the side 
of their mothers, and in two days they could nibble 
vegetables. 

Unfortunately, Guinea became ill, also her brown 
baby. I gave her white baby to Tiny, who was an 
excellent foster-mother to it, and taking Guinea and 
Brownie upstairs, I put them on a hot- water bag. 

75 



My Pets 

In watching Guinea I shuddered, thinking of the 
grief of the little girls, should she die. She breathed 
rapidly all the afternoon and evening. If I had 
dosed her with castor or sweet oil, it might have 
done good, but I did not think of it. At midnight 
she jumped up, ran around the room, gasped for 
breath, and died. I put her in a white box and sent 
for her little owners, who came sadly to see her. 
Never would I have believed it possible that one 
could become so much attached to a guineapig. 

Guinea's young one did well in the basement ; the 
brown one died after I had fussed over it for a 
week, getting up two or three times at night, and 
stretching out my hand to poor Brownie, who would 
crawl on it to be fed. 

I had the over-zeal of ignorance, and gave poor 
Piggy undiluted cow's milk. Common sense might 
have taught me that a little water and a little sugar 
should be added to the milk of a great strong 
creature like a cow, when fed to any small animal. 
Afterward, I brought up several young guineapigs 
whose parents had died. Just at first one has to 
use a medicine-dropper or teaspoon to feed them, 
but in a marvelously short time they will stick their 
own little noses in their bread and milk. 

One of my favorite pigs was a dark-colored, long- 
haired Peruvian, that looked like a weeping willow, 
minus its trunk. 

When I first got him his funereal appearance seri- 
ously affected some of my birds. He lived, and 

76 



My Pet Rats 

was happy with me, and when I moved my pets to 
my farm I took him and the other pigs with me. 
They so much enjoyed the delicious red and white 
clover, and the kind attention of a relative to whom 
I gave them, that when I sold my farm, I left my 
pigs behind me. However, I have quite missed 
them, and often think that some day I must again 
start a nursery of guineapigs. 

I became very much fonder of them than of my 
rabbits. They were very much better behaved, 
though I must acknowledge, that as far as my 
experience with children goes, rabbits seem to have 
more power than the gentle pigs of inspiring a 
warm affection. 

The most enthusiastic rabbit-lovers I have ever 
known were two little girls, who came to me one 
day with a pair of tiny white rabbits. Would I give 
these little creatures a home ? I was very glad to do 
so, for I thought that my gray Rab, who was now 
a big handsome rabbit, would , not despise these 
creatures of her own kind, as she had despised the 
guineapig. I put the little white fellows in with her, 
and to my surprise she darted at them, and tried to 
injure them in such an unmistakable way that I 
promptly pounced on her and took her out in the 
furnace-room. She did not like this, and gazed 
angrily through the wire door at the white rabbits 
that were careering around with the guineapigs. 
She had been naughty, but still I was sorry for her. 
On remembering her first friend, the spotted rabbit, 

77 



My Pets 

I bought another to play with her. She got on very 
well with this new friend, but the little white rab- 
bits fell into misfortune. 

On going into the aviary one morning, I found 
one of them cold in death. What had happened to 
him? There was nothing there that could injure 
him. After some hard thinking and Sherlock 
Holmes examination of tracks and signs, I discov- 
ered that during the night the poor little rabbit had 
started to eat hay on the edge of the long, steep 
bank of earth, had fallen down, and could not find 
the path leading to his little brother above. He had 
died of fright, and I soon had the bank low enough 
for guineapigs and rabbits to run up and down. 
The surviving rabbit became ill, so I put him out in 
the warmer furnace-room, and drove Rab and 
Spotty to the aviary. 

This made fresh trouble. Rab had been quite 
upset when I took her from the aviary, and now she 
was more upset because I had put her back. She 
had become accustomed to the furnace-room, and 
she shook the wire door, and gnawed the wood- 
work, and at last, seeing the rage she was in, I al- 
lowed her to return to the furnace-room. She was 
so ill that she lay down as if she were going to die. 
I slipped a hot-water bag under her, and advised 
her to keep on it. She gazed about her in a pecu- 
liar way with laid-back ears, looking as if she did 
not think much of my opinion. However, she kept 
on the bag, only occasionally getting up to take a 

78 



My Pet Rats 

long drink of cold water, and in a day or two was 
quite well. 

While she was ill she did not molest the rabbit, 
nor did her companion, Spotty, interfere with him. 
He was a pretty good rabbit, and not bad-tempered, 
as Rab was. As soon as she recovered she sought the 
young rabbit's life, and I was obliged to have a stout 
enclosure made for him, as I still wished to keep 
him in the warm furnace-room. I knew there were 
rats in this room. We saw them running about 
with Rab and Spotty, eating their grain with them, 
drinking from their water dishes, nestling in their 
bundle of hay, and sitting by the furnace to keep 
warm. I have always had a liking for rats, and it 
did not occur to me that these well-fed creatures, 
with the peculiarly bright, intelligent eyes, could or 
would kill my baby rabbit. 

However, they did do so; and one January after- 
noon when I went to the basement to feed my down- 
stairs family, I was shocked to discover his little 
blood-stained body in my path. The cruel rats had 
entered the wire pen of the little fellow, had dragged 
out his body, and had eaten his brains. 

I ran for my father, who was always most sym- 
pathetic. He said he did not see how the rats had 
pried up the heavy supports of the rabbit's cage. 
However, they had done it; and I wrapped poor 
Bunny up and put him in the furnace — cremation 
being my preferred mode of disposing of my pets' 
bodies. 

79 



My Pets ^ 

Then we spent the evening in making a trap for 
the rats, but I fancy they watched us while we were 
doing it, and we, of course, caught none of them. 
We did catch some young ones, however, and the 
five tiny things looked so innocent as they sat in 
their trap that I could not make up my mind to 
have them killed, and took the cage up to my 
father's study. 

" Suppose we keep them," I suggested, " and 
train them — make them friendly with the young 
rabbits and pigs and birds." 

" Suppose we do," he said ; and leaving his books, 
he descended to the aviary with me, and together 
we rigged a big cage against one of the brick walls. 
There the rat babies could look at my pets, and get 
acquainted with them. 

Young rats are really pretty creatures. These 
little ones had white breasts, pink paws, shell-like, 
whitish ears, black whiskers, and bright, black eyes. 
They slept all day in a brown box at the top of their 
big cage. This box looked something like a pulpit, 
and, if roused, they would lean over their pulpit, 
holding on by their pink paws, their beady eyes 
seeming to say, " What do you want ? We don't 
like to play till night comes." 

One day one of them became ill, and lay under 
the straw at the bottom of the cage for some time. 
It was almost human to see the way in which he 
would stretch one little pink paw from under the 
straw, and feebly move it to and fro. 

80 



My Pet Rats 

When these young rats were partly grown, we 
caught two tiny ones and put in with them. The 
new-comers were very anxious to get up in the 
brown box, and tried cHmbing up hand over hand, 
or rather paw over paw toward it. The big ones 
amused themselves by leaning out of the box and 
pushing them down. I gave the little ones a tangle 
of wool to sleep in on the bottom of the cage, and 
two or three days later the older ones relented, and 
allowed them to climb up to sleep in the box. 

It seemed to me particularly appropriate that 
my father, who is a doctor of divinity, should take an 
interest in the training of these young rats. So I was 
amused when he proposed to give them a whirligig. 
This wheel was put in the cage, and soon my father 
had his rat students so trained that when he struck 
the cage sharply, and said, " Come, boys ! " one of 
them would spring from the pulpit, his little feet 
flying, his black eyes excited, and his whole appear- 
ance apparently denoting his appreciation of the 
amusement of his spectators in his mechanical per- 
formance, though I finally concluded that the intel- 
ligent creature was supremely bored by it. 

After a time one of these young rats managed in 
some way or other to squeeze himself out of the 
cage. I did not concern myself greatly about it. 
I intended to give every one of them their freedom 
some day, but I was sorry for his evident loneliness, 
and amused beyond description to see him one day 
trying to insinuate himself back into the cage, 
r 8i 



My Pets 

He spent the most of the time on the top of the 
cage, but sometimes ran about the aviary with the 
guineapigs and birds, and always squealed loudly 
with delight when I entered with fresh food. 

Whether he incited the others to escape from 
their cage or not, I did not know; but one day I 
said to my father that his rats were very quiet, and 
had not been eating much, also that only one per- 
former came out, and went round and round on his 
wheel, stopping occasionally and holding on to the 
bars with his pink feet as if to say, " Where are my 
brothers ? " 

I examined his cage, and found only three young 
ones in it ; the other four were running loose in the 
aviary, probably to the great delight of the former 
solitary young one. 

The other three soon got out, and now I had 
seven rats frisking to and fro over the earth floor 
of the aviary. They had a delightful time, stealing 
newspapers and straw from the guineapigs' barrels. 
They made a nice large nest in a hole in the earth, 
and for a time were model rats. 



82 




CHAPTER IX 



FAREWELL TO THE RATS AND RABBITS 



I GOT a little uneasy as the rats continued to 
grow, and to grow, and to grow. However, I 
reflected that they were not of pet stock. They 
were common sewer rats, and if they were a good 
size in the open, why should they not attain to a 
greater, here in this enclosure where they had not 
a care in the world, and had plenty of what must 
have been to them delectable food. 

I had been accustomed to think of rats as dirty 
creatures, and was surprised to find how much they 
loved water, and with what determination they 
washed and brushed themselves each day. They 

83 



My Pets 

were model pets in that respect, but I was disap- 
pointed to find that they did not grow tame and 
come about me. By this time they were enormous 
fellows, and at night I used to take a lantern and 
go into the aviary, and sit on a box and watch them. 
I wanted to love them. They were my pet rats. 
Why not grow as attached to them as to a dog or a 
cat? I could not. I would not let myself shudder 
as they passed to and fro near me, but I wanted to 
do so. They did not care particularly for me. I 
could see that in every movement of the big, sleek 
gray creatures, and they did not trust me. I felt 
badly to find that they were excavating a tunnel in 
the earth. I did not see them actually at it. They 
used to work on their fortifications at night, and 
every morning there would be a heap of earth piled 
up, with large stones too heavy for one rat to carry. 

My father said that he would have liked im- 
mensely to see how they carried out those stones. 
I thought that this performance implied lack of 
confidence in me. What were the rats going to do 
there, and what did they expect me to do, that they 
deserted their shallow nest and made this under- 
ground cave? I did not know but what they had 
tunneled through to the street, but this fortunately 
they did not do. When the den was finished, they 
lined it, and retired to it, and I saw very little of 
them. 

They might have been there to this day, if it had 
not been for the death of my robin, Dick, that I 

84 



Farewell to the Rats and Rabbits 

have already referred to. When I went into the 
aviary, and found that they had deHberately mur- 
dered a bird, when there was an abundance of food 
for them, I gave up my plan of reforming rats, and 
decided that as the fathers were, so will the chil- 
dren be, and they had better go back to the street. 

The next morning my father went into the 
aviary with a workman, who carried a pick and 
shovel. Our two fox-terriers ran after them. Two 
rats escaped to the outer world, where I imagined 
them telling wonderful tales to their relatives of a 
basement where food and drink abounded, and 
where they had made a wheel spin round and round, 
and had tried to lead a good, respectable life, and 
had failed. 

The fox-terriers pounced on the other five rats as 
they ran out from the snug home we found they 
had made by tunneling into an old French drain 
built alongside the house. I worried a little, think- 
ing that perhaps they should all have been driven 
into the street, but have since found out more about 
rats, and accept the statement of many wise persons, 
who say that they carry disease germs, and should 
be exterminated. I would not torture them, but 
would kill them mercifully and speedily. 

This common, grayish rat has had a remarkable 
history. Starting as far as we know from western 
China, he became a sailor rat, and has by means of 
ships gone all over the world, driving the black rat 
in terror before him. 

8s 



My Pets 

The gray, or brown rat, as he is often called, will, 
in favorable situations, increase enormously, pro- 
ducing annually several litters, each of which may 
contain eight, ten, or even twelve or fourteen young 
ones. 

Some years ago, the number of rats in the 
slaughter-houses about Paris was so great that as 
many as two and three thousand would be killed in 
a single night. However, they have friends. I have 
heard that in some mines the miners make great 
pets of rats, and are angry if any visitor brings his 
dog with him. The rats are the only creatures that 
willingly stay underground with the men, and be- 
side acting as scavengers, their sharp eyes and ears 
are ever on the alert for slipping sand, or pebbles 
falling from the rocky roofs. They hear noises un- 
perceived by the men, and previous to a caving-in, 
will run for the open air with wild squeals of terror. 
Small wonder that the miners protect them. 

They have also admirers of their intelligence, 
among whom I am proud to number myself, for 
why should carnivorous human beings be too hard 
on rats for killing birds ? However, as a family, we 
decided that the rat episode had been so painful that 
we could no longer have them about the house. 
Workmen were called in, and concrete floors were 
laid in furnace-room, coal-cellars, and storeroom. 
The poor rats were determined not to be driven out, 
and if the workmen left the concrete while it was 
soft, they would dig their way up again. I was not 

86 



Farewell to the Rats and Rabbits 

willing to cover the earth in the aviary, and there 
was no danger of the rats getting in there, unless 
they tunneled from the other side of the house. 
This they would be quite capable of doing, if they 
thought they could get into the aviary in that way, 
and to this day I never see holes in the earth, or 
freshly scratched places, without anxiously examin- 
ing them for traces of my dreaded gray enemies. 

After making up my mind that rats were not 
suitable inhabitants of an aviary, I decided that the 
next animals to go would be the rabbits ; but first, 
I was to have some further experiences with them. 
The little girls who had brought me the two white 
rabbits came to see me shortly after the expulsion 
of the rats, and with mournful faces informed me 
that they were about to leave Halifax with their 
parents. 

" And we were going to give you our three dear 
rabbits," they said earnestly, " but one died." 

I tried hard to look regretful for this untimely 
death, and one of the little girls went on to say, 
" We put this rabbit, Venus, in a basket to bring to 
you, then we saw the basket heave. We opened it, 
and there was Venus with froth on her mouth. Now 
what did she die of ? Was it from poison ? We had 
given her some red leaves from the woods, but the 
other rabbits ate them, and they did not die." 

" Perhaps her sister kicked her," said the other 
little girl. 

" Anyway, it was a great shock to me," continued 

87 



My Pets 

the first one disconsolately. " I howled from ten 
minutes past three till six — Venus would have had 
such a good time with you." 

" Well, she is safely over her troubles now," I 
remarked, " and I am not particularly anxious to 
add to my stock of rabbits. I am becoming more 
interested in birds, and an old man came out the 
other day bringing me a half-sick rabbit." 

The children at once asked to see this rabbit, and 
named him Raggylug for me. Then they walked to 
and fro in the furnace-room, never keeping still a 
minute, stubbing their toes on the floor, or leaning 
against the stone wall to talk of an astonishing 
number of subjects connected with animals, among 
others, their hatred of vivisection, and their intense 
hope that there would be immortality for animals. 

" There must be animals in heaven," one of them 
said earnestly, " for are there not doves around the 
altar? and there must be cows and bees, if it is a 
land flowing with milk and honey." 

Then, with an abrupt change, one of them said 
to me, " You must feel as if you were in heaven, 
Miss Saunders, when you get into this basement 
with all your animals." 

In some embarrassment I replied that I did not 
consider the basement of my father's house an ideal 
place. Some day I hoped to have a better home for 
my birds. 

However, I never said very much ; for when those 
children talked, I always wanted to listen. Among 

88 



Farewell to the Rats and Rabbits 

all the animal-lovers that I have ever known, I never 
met with two more exquisitely thoughtful and sym- 
pathetic souls than these. 

At that time they were absolutely torn with anx- 
iety as to the fate of their two surviving rabbits, 
which I at last promised to take. They said, " We 
know they will be safe with you, Miss Saunders. 
But suppose anything should happen to you." 

I told them over and over again, that if I were 
prematurely cut off, or had to part from my pets, 
measures would be taken to provide their rabbits 
with the best of homes. 

One thing they strictly impressed upon me. They 
did not approve of cremation, and if their rabbits 
were to die, they must be buried in the ground. 

" Our rabbits are so supernatural," one of them 
remarked. 

To allay their intense anxiety, I promised every- 
thing they wished, and later on they brought the 
rabbits to me, both decorated with blue ribbon, and 
told me the larger one was Trixy Minerva, and the 
smaller one Candytuft Mercury. They said that 
Trixy was a saint, and was aunt to Candytuft, who 
was a sinner. Then they cut locks of hair from 
their pets' heads, took a painful farewell of them, 
and went away. 

In some perplexity I surveyed my rabbit family 
after they left me. The gentle Raggylug was lo- 
ping around the aviary. As Trixy bore a good char- 
acter, I decided to put her in with him. Spotty 

89 



My Pets 

and Ra5 would kill Candytuft Mercury if I turned 
him loose in the furnace-room, so I shut him and 
his blue ribbon up in a barrel, till I could think his 
case over. 

The next morning I found that Trixy had bitten 
Raggylug's ear, and the patient little fellow sat 
with a guineapig friend kindly licking the sore place 
for him. I hope it was sympathy, but I really be- 
lieve that even model guineapigs may occasionally 
like the taste of blood. 

I left Raggylug in the aviary for a further trial, 
and he soon learned that he must not gallop round 
at Trixy's heels. She did not like it. 

What was I to do with Candytuft? That was 
now the burning question. He had to come out 
of that barrel, anyway. His little owners would be 
shocked if they should see him in it, so I turned him 
into the aviary and awaited developments. 

They soon came. Delighted with his freedom, 
he stamped his soft paws on the earth, and bounded 
to and fro, making an occasional vicious onslaught 
on poor Raggylug, who hid behind the guineapigs' 
barrels. 

This would not do. I must try a new combina- 
tion, so I put Candy out in the furnace-room, and 
took Spotty in with Trixy. The usually good- 
natured Spotty flew at Trixy, kicked her, tore out 
great bunches of her hair, and in much trepidation 
I had to run and catch the furious Spotty, who was 
breathing spasmodically, and push the terrified 

90 



Farewell to the Rats and Rabbits 

Trixy in a corner to recuperate. She was twice his 
size, but he had beaten her. Now she would un- 
derstand how Raggylug felt when she bit his ear. 

I had forgotten that rabbits quarreled so much. 
When I was a girl my elder brother kept sixty of 
them together in a carriage-house loft, and in look- 
ing back, I could not remember hearing of the 
dreadful fights my few rabbits had had. My curi- 
osity led me to interview him on the subject, and he 
laughed, and confessed that in his youthful days 
his loft was the scene of many woolly battles and 
hair-breadth escapes, when his boy friends brought 
their rabbits to pit against his. 

I had to come back to my rabbit problem. As 
the days went by I was no nearer its solution. Trixy 
and Candy both whipped the model Raggylug. 
Trixy bit him, and Candytuft kicked him. Candy- 
tuft also bit Trixy. Rab and Spotty bit and kicked 
all three. Finally, to give myself a breathing-spell, 
for I did not propose to spend the rest of my life 
in the basement, settling rabbit quarrels — they used 
to bite me too — I put Candy in a box. 

The king of terrors, who solves so many prob- 
lems, came to my rescue. One morning Lizzie ran 
upstairs and informed me that Spotty was " stiff." 

I hurried down to him and finding him swollen 
enormously, I rushed castor oil down his throat, and 
got him into a hot bath. I was too late. He died — 
surprisingly strong and struggling to the last, 
though at first he was patient and quiet. Probably 

91 



My Pets 

the bath was not a good thing. I was puzzled as 
to the cause of his death, until I found some de- 
cayed potatoes that had been put by the furnace 
to be burned. 

We had a post mortem examination, and my sup- 
position was found to be correct. Poor, inoffensive 
Spotty had been killed by greediness. I knew he 
had not been hungry, for I always had plenty of 
food lying about. I believe in giving pet creatures 
plenty of exercise and an abundance of food. I 
rarely find that they eat too much. 

To my great uneasiness Trixy fell ill after this, 
and I was obliged to have recourse to my oil bottle. 
I felt thankful that the children could not see their 
fresh white beauty with her dejected air and oily, 
dirty face. This time I evidently did the right 
thing, for Trixy pulled through. 

After I had had these rabbits a few months the 
time came for my trip to Europe, and I was not 
surprised to hear that my family would take care 
of my birds and guineapigs, but utterly refused to 
have anything to do with the quarrelsome rabbits. 

I did not blame them. They had all been wit- 
nesses of amusing rabbit fights in which the two 
combatants would take their station opposite each 
other, warily watching to see which could get the 
first jump. The advantage was not to jump highest, 
but to jump first. The first one in the air as they 
came down, would give a dreadful kick with his 
hind legs at his opppnent's body. So heating and so 

92 



Farewell to the Rats and Rabbits 

wearing was this form of contest, that in a few sec- 
onds the two combatants were completely over- 
come, and the air was full of kicked-off hair. Re- 
tiring to a little distance from each other, they 
would both lie flat on their stomachs on the cool 
earth, then, after a time, would rise for another 
round that I always promptly stopped. 

I hope I am not too hard on the pretty creatures, 
but this particular set I had was very bad. When 
they had young ones they were worse than ever. A 
mother rabbit would viciously tear open the side of 
a baby rabbit belonging to another mother, and I 
have seen them snap at and try to kill young birds. 

Raggylug, the only well-behaved one, was so 
bitten by Candytuft that he became afflicted by a 
huge swelling on the back of his head. One of the 
guineapigs found the niche between the swelling 
and the top of Raggylug's head a good resting- 
place, and it was amusing to see the little creature 
lying there, quite undisturbed by good, patient 
Raggy. 

I put sulphur ointment on the swelling, but it did 
not improve; and I was just about to have him 
killed when, one day as he was sunning himself out 
in the garden, Candytuft rushed at him and des- 
patched him. 

It was almost impossible to keep the rabbits apart. 
They were as quick as dogs in leaping through open 
doors, and flying at each other. I made up my mind 
to scatter my rabbits, and fou;jd good homes for 

93 



My Pets 

them all. I trembled when I thought of what the 
little girls would say, but I wrote them an apologetic 
and explanatory letter, and to my relief, they took 
the affair very philosophically. 

I have never kept rabbits since ; but if ever I had 
sufficient room, I would really enjoy having a few 
pairs of the pretty creatures — separate, not together. 



94 




Purple Gallinule 
Page 95 




CHAPTER X 



A BIRD FROM OVER THE SEA 



SHORTLY after parting from my rabbits and 
rats I became much interested in hearing from 
a naturalist friend, of the arrival of a strange bird 
on our coast. A pitiless gale had been beating 
strange birds shoreward, and this wanderer had 
been picked up, helpless, but still living. The man 
who found him knew from his brilliant coloring that 
he was no Nova Scotian bird, and sent a descrip- 
tion of him to my naturalist friend, who at once 
pronounced him to be a purple gallinule — a heron- 
like wader related to the coot family. 

" The bird is a native of the Gulf States," wrote 
the naturalist, " and of the South Atlantic generally. 

95 



My Pets 

I wish he could give us an account of his trip. He 
must have been caught in a tyrannous blast, and 
been whirled more than a thousand miles, and he 
not a great flyer, either." 

I was quite excited about this bird that had been 
hurried so swiftly through the air; the more so, as 
I heard that he was intended as a present for me, 
after he had recuperated in a cage that he seemed 
quite contented in. 

Shortly afterward the naturalist arrived with 
the gaUinule in a box, with a kind of chimney to it 
to accommodate his long neck. I could not see him 
properly in it, so we hurried to the aviary and let 
him loose on the earth. He was a beauty, with 
handsome blue and purple plumage, and seemed 
a gentle, reasonable sort of bird, not at all fright- 
ened by captivity. After eating gravely from a cup 
of cornmeal pudding, with worms for raisins, he 
took a long drink. 

The guineapigs, devoured with curiosity, ran 
round and round this handsome bird with the long, 
slender legs. He walked very lame on one of these 
legs, but after examination, we decided that there 
was nothing broken — he had merely rheumatism 
in it. 

In order to hasten his recovery I took him up to 
my warm study, where I added hard-boiled eggs to 
his bill of fare. These he liked very much. I loved 
to watch him. He had a pretty way of carrying his 
long neck and head, an exceedingly calm, philo- 

96 



A Bird from Over the Se^ 

sophical manner, and lovely dark eyes. He had 
also a comical way of flirting his tail and showing 
the pretty white feathers in it. 

After a few days his wings did not droop so 
much. He was getting better, his excellent appetite 
helping him in this respect. While eating, he was 
very economical; and if a crumb dropped outside 
his dish he at once picked it up. 

Soon he began to fight his cage in my study, and 
beat himself about so much, that I decided to put 
him downstairs. First, though, we must take his 
photograph, and we had great amusement in ar- 
ranging a sofa in a window, and persuading him lo 
sit on it. 

After his picture was taken, he was put into the 
aviary, and seemed delighted with the greater free- 
dom, flying to and fro, with his legs sticking straight 
out behind him. Finally he calmed down, walked 
about, looked out the windows, and at night-time 
took possession of a broad, soft nest that I had made 
him in one of the trees standing against the wall. He 
liked the protection of these firs and spruces. Ani- 
mals and birds kept in captivity enjoy having some 
place where they can get out of sight. I often pity 
squirrels kept in open cages. They should always 
have a box to run into. 

The guineapigs kept on bothering the gallinule. 

When he was eating, they pressed close to him. He 

eyed them severely, but did not retaliate until they 

were actually on his long, slender claws. Then, 

G 97 



My Pets 

with a well-directed blow, he would strike them 
exactly on the top of the head with his heavy beak, 
and I fear caused the death of several of them, that 
were found lying quite still and cold where they had 
fallen in their tracks. 

He also disliked being bothered or troubled by 
any birds, and in a quiet but determined way always 
got rid of them. Shortly after I got him he took a 
fancy to double up his long legs, and squat in a nest 
of straw that I made for him on a broad window 
ledge. As he sat there in the sun, the other birds 
went to call on him. He paid no attention to first 
calls, but when the ringdoves, whose chosen place 
was near him, came a second time, he leaned over, 
took one by the tail, and pulled it. 

This seemed to me to show some sense of humor, 
and I afterward noticed other birds indulging in 
tail-pulHng. Canaries are particularly fond of it, 
and I often have seen a mischievous canary sneak- 
ing up to another who is sitting on a branch, his 
little throat distended, his head back. He is singing 
the most eloquent song he knows. Perhaps he Is 
showing off before some pretty stranger whose good 
graces he wishes to gain, when, lo, he is thrown into 
a most pitiable state of confusion and contortion, for 
canary number one has seized his tail and has given 
it a good tweak. 

He almost falls back, then with a wrathful 
squawk the song changes, and he pursues the bad 
bird to give him a pecking. 

98 



A Bird from Over the Sea 

The gallinule never liked my ringdoves. I 
brought them home with me when I came from my 
European trip. I got them in Boston, though I 
had resolved to get them in Paris, for one day while 
walking down the ^^oulevard Montparnasse, I had 
fallen in love with a gentle bird that had called, 
" Coo, oo, oo ! " to me, from the door of a laundry. 

I turned to speak to him, as he stood bowing un- 
ceasingly to me, and the smiling proprietor of the 
shop informed me that he was very tame and never 
flew away. 

" I shall have a pair of ringdoves when I go 
home," I remarked, and therefore purchased two 
pretty birds, and took them up to Nova Scotia with 
me. They were gentle birds, but unyielding and 
obstinate, and they did not want the gallinule in 
their corner of the aviary. The laundryman had 
been right about their love for home. They rarely 
wandered about the aviary, but kept in their pet 
place. The gallinule, forgetting how he had re- 
sented their visits, would insist on calling on them, 
and then there would be a fight. 

Their combats were bloodless, and exceedingly 
funny. When the doves saw him approaching they 
would look angry, would slide along their perch, 
and, lifting their wings, would give him good, sound 
slaps. All the dove and pigeon tribe fight in this 
amusing way, and they can give quite hard blows. 

The gallinule, finding one on each side of him, 
would try to look martial, and clapping his wings 

99 



My Pets 

close to his sides, would tilt backward, double up 
his long legs, spread his claws flat, and give a splay- 
footed kick at them. He had the effect of falling 
over backward as he fought, and his doubling-up 
process must have been as fatiguing as it was funny, 
for he always brought it speedily to a close, and 
beating a retreat, left the doves in possession of 
their perch. 

Before I leave these doves, I must speak of their 
amusing watchdog habit. All through the night 
they would cry out if they heard any noise inside 
the house. It would have been impossible for a 
burglar to enter the basement, without having them 
call loudly in concert to him, " Coo-oo, ooo-ooo ! 
Whooo!" 

After I had had Beauty for some months, I had 
another gallinule come over seas and land to join 
my collection of birds, though he, of course, had not 
the least intention of entering an aviary when he 
left the sunny South. Strange to relate, he too 
was picked up exhausted on the shores of Nova 
Scotia, but nearer to me, having dropped down 
close to Dartmouth, a town across the harbor from 
Halifax. 

I first heard of him from a bird-fancier in Dart- 
mouth, who called on me and asked me what I gave 
my gallinule to eat. 

" You have not by any chance a live one ? " a 
asked. 

He said he had ; that a little boy had picked up I 

lOO 



A Bird from Over the Sea 

strange bird on the railroad track by the shore, and 
knowing that this gentleman had a fine collection of 
stuffed birds, had brought it to him, asking him to 
kill and mount it for him. 

Telling the boy that it would be a pity to kill so 
handsome a bird, the gentleman gave him a dollar, 
and told him to choose one of his already stuffed 
birds. 

The boy went away happy, and the gentleman 
came to me to write a bill of fare for the stranger, as 
he wished very much to keep him. 

I told him I had not dreamed there were any but 
stuffed gallinules for several hundreds of miles 
near me, and that as his bird was fortunate enough 
to be alive, I would recommend a general sort of 
diet, for I saw my Beauty picking at all sorts of 
food in the aviary. 

Above all, we must have a good, deep water dish. 
No matter how cold the weather was. Beauty would 
stand for hour after hour in . his bathtub, gazing 
about him in a quiet contemplative fashion, and 
occasionally making a swift bob down into the water 
to wet his purple plumage. 

The gentleman said he would possibly get tired 
of keeping a solitary bird, and if he did, would send 
it over to me. Therefore, I was not surprised, when 
in a few days gallinule number two arrived in a 
basket. Once more I was excited. What would 
the meeting be like between these two wanderers 
from a foreign shore? Imagine my delight if, held 

lOI 



My Pets 

prisoner in Mexico, I should suddenly have thrust 
into my prison another real, live Nova Scotian. 

I took the new bird down to the aviary and let 
him out. He also was a handsome bird, and in good 
condition, in spite of his long flight; and was, I 
imagined, slightly larger than mine. 

To my disappointment, there were no hysterics, 
no heroics about the meeting. They did not fly to 
meet each other. My gallinule looked at the strange 
gallinule, and the strange gallinule looked at him. 
I thought I saw tokens of quiet pleasure on the part 
of each one, but it was extremely quiet. 

The stranger, after gazing about him with the 
cool philosophical stare that seems to be peculiar to 
gallinules, walked up to a little looking-glass, and 
pecked at his reflection there. As it did not recipro- 
cate, he kicked at it scornfully. Then he looked 
about to see what there was to eat. After satisfying 
his appetite he had a bath. 

The next day I found him stuffing himself with 
bread and milk that was very warm, almost hot. I 
was struck by it, for most birds like their food luke- 
warm or cold. 

Though still undemonstrative, he soon attached 
himself to my gallinule, and they usually kept to- 
gether, though their friendship was of the coolest, 
calmest kind. Nothing ever disturbed the equanim- 
ity of those gallinules but the firing of the twelve 
o'clock gun from the citadel in the middle of the 
city. In all colonial towns around the world that 

1 02 



A Bird from Over the Sea 

possess an English garrison this noontide gun or 
cannon is fired. 

The first gallinule always jumped and gave a 
loud squawk when it went off. The other one did 
not mind it so much. 



103 




CHAPTER XI 

GOOD-BYE TO THE GALLINULES 

NOT long after the entrance of this new galli- 
nule into my bird world, circumstantial evi- 
dence convicted him of a crime that seemed to me 
particularly atrocious and unnecessary. 

I had bought two little birds — a linnet and a gold- 
finch. These birds came with large num.bers of 
other birds from Europe to New York, which is the 
great market for foreign birds. 

They were both so restless in the cage in which 
I put them for quarantine purposes, that I was con- 
vinced they were trapped birds. This suspicion was 

104 



Good-bye to the Gallinules 

confirmed by finding some of the linnet's feathers 
stuck together with bird lime. Indeed, he was in 
such a state that I did not see how he had main- 
tained enough freedom of movement to get about 
the large cage in which I had put him. I cut off the 
sticky feathers, felt angry with his trappers for 
catching him, for the little wild creature beat him- 
self against his bars all the time, and I let him 
loose in the aviary. He flew about the basement, 
ascended to the roof-veranda, made friends with 
one of my native linnets — so-called, which are really 
finches, and finally I gave him his freedom. He 
flew away with the finch, and I hope migrated with 
him. 

This European linnet was a quiet-looking, dark 
bird. The goldfinch was utterly different, both in 
appearance and in disposition, and was also totally 
unlike our pretty, bright American goldfinch. The 
English bird was about five inches long, his whitish 
beak was conical and sharp, his feet were brown 
and slender, the front of his head was bright scarlet, 
the top of it black. His cheeks and upper neck were 
pure white, the sides of his breast light brown, the 
middle whitish gray, his wing feathers were vel- 
vety black, yellow, and white. In Europe he and 
his fellows are of great service to farmers, their 
sharp little beaks dragging many insects from their 
hiding-places. One of their chief articles of diet is 
thistle-seed, and they are trapped by means of bird 
lime placed near bunches of thistles. 

105 



My Pets 

My little goldfinch did not seem very strong. One 
can fancy that after having a struggle with limed 
twigs, and then being shut up in a tiny cage with an 
entire change of food, and being transported across 
a wide ocean, he would not to any sensible degree 
find himself benefited in health. This poor little 
fellow soon died, and the bird-dealer gave me an- 
other one that worried along through one winter 
and spring. He was like the first one, as far as two 
birds can be alike. I became very fond of him. He 
was such a quiet, good little creature, and never 
molested another bird. When moulting-time came 
his weak points were accentuated. His feathers 
seemed to drop out all at once, and he lost his 
ability to fly. However, he bore his affliction philo- 
sophically, and seeing that his wings had deserted 
him, calmly took to his slender brown feet. 
Through the long, pleasant autumn days, he would 
go from tree to tree, climbing from one branch to 
another till he reached the top, then at night he 
always chose for his bed-place a perch near the 
old-fashioned worked picture, given to my father 
by one of his parishioners, and entitled, " Sweet rest 
in Heaven." 

This picture hung in my bedroom, a sunny apart- 
ment opening on the roof-veranda. I had very 
much enjoyed this room, but my birds had become 
so sociable, hopping in to see me, examining my 
pincushion and workbasket for threads and bits 
of cloth for their nests, and also crowding me so 

1 06 



Good-bye to the Gallinules 

much when I tried to look in my mirror, that for a 
part of the year I gave the room up to them and 
slept in another. 

I had nailed some branches and perches to the 
walls and the little goldfinch when morning came, 
carefully picked his way down from behind the pic- 
ture, and began journeying to and fro on the 
veranda, with many slips and many falls, but with 
so much enjoyment of his liberty that I could not 
bear to shut him up in one of the detested cages. 

I knew that it was scarcely safe to have this little 
crippled fellow wandering about among large birds, 
but he was so discreet, and the large birds seemed so 
forbearing, that I hoped nothing would happen to 
him. 

Then I was with my birds nearly all day long, 
either on the veranda or in the bird-room, and if I 
were not there some members of the family would 
be reading, sewing, or entertaining friends out in 
the sunshine. 

I kept for several years from eighty to a hun- 
dred birds at a time, and there were a good many 
quarrels which would be quickly settled by a word 
from us, or sometimes by the birds themselves. 

I have often seen a bird rush between two others 
who were angrily beating each other. Of course, 
the purpose of this bird is not to settle the quarrel. 
After watching them carefully I concluded that 
they interfere from a variety of motives, none of 
them altruistic. I think the chief reason of their in- 

107 



My Pets 

terference arises from the fact that birds are highly 
sensitive creatures. They hate sharp noises and 
any disturbance. If they do not understand a noise 
they fly away and hide, or rush wildly to and fro. 
If they do understand it, as in the case of two of 
their fellows quarreling, they irritably interfere, as 
if to say, " Why do you make such a horrible noise 
and disturb the harmony of things ? " 

The gallinules loved the roof-veranda, and sol- 
emnly ascending the elevator, would stand for hours 
in the water dishes, or would bask in the sunlight. 
I noticed that they moved about a good deal at 
night, and I have since heard that there is more 
movement in the bird world at night than we some- 
times suppose. 

I know many of my birds would make their way 
about, if there was the least particle of light, and 
some of them would arouse me by flying to and fro, 
and singing, if the moonlight were bright. 

I did not know very much about gallinules, and 
it did not occur to me that they would prey upon 
birds, though I did find one of them playing with 
one of the turtles. However, gallinules were 
waders, and anything that lived in the water would 
be legitimate prey. But this second gallinule should 
not have killed my dear little goldfinch, and torn his 
wise little head from his shoulders. 

This was the painful sight that greeted me one 
morning as I stepped out to the veranda. There 
was the headless body. There stood the gallinule, 

io8 



Good-bye to the Gallinules 

looking as if he were thinking of nothing but the 
beauty and brightness of the morning. 

How did I know this galHnule, Beauty Number 
Two, was to blame ? Well, if a mother has a certain 
number of children, and studies the character of 
each one, she knows them as thoroughly as one 
created being can understand another. She leaves 
the children in a room and returns to find one hurt 
and crying. She looks around, and by certain in- 
definable signs discovers the aggressor. 

The gaUinule's philosophical, uninterested air 
might have led an outsider astray, and for just a 
very short time my suspicions did wander to a 
cardinal bird. However, they came back to the long- 
legged bird, and after a time I saw him playing with 
the poor little goldfinch's head. I put him through 
the gate leading to the elevator, and told him to stay 
in regions below for a time. I would not have a 
murderer above. He did not like this, and with his 
companion would come and stand at the gate, plead- 
ing to be let in, until at last I relented ; and whether 
he understood or not, he did not kill another bird 
for a long time. 

When I moved the birds to my farm in the coun- 
try, the gallinules went too. In an ell of the house 
were some rooms with screened windows. The 
screen on one door was loose, and my first gallinule 
managed to insinuate his body, and get out one fine 
day. 

Below the house was a meadow, and through the 

109 



My Pets 

meadow ran a beautiful little river. We could hear 
the birds the farmers called meadow-hens laughing 
down there all day long, and at night the legions of 
frogs kept up an harmonious chant of " Rain, rain, 
rain ! " 

Along the river banks were lovely wild flowers 
and thick shrubbery. I imagined that the gallinule 
would have a delightful time in this dense covert, 
and as he had been clever enough to find his way to 
Nova Scotia from Mexico or Georgia, perhaps, 
when autumn came, he might be clever enough to 
find his way back. So I took the other gallinule 
and carried him out to the bank overhanging the 
meadow. I threw him high up in the air, and he 
sank down from my sight among the violets and 
long grass of the hillside. 

From what I knew of his habits, I concluded that 
he would hide there till night came, then make his 
way to the river, I hoped that he would find Beauty 
Number One, and many times since I have thought 
that I would give a very great deal to know the ulti- 
mate fate of my two gallinules. 



no 



\ 










CHAPTER XII 

FIRST ACQUAINTANCE WITH PIGEONS 

SOON after starting my aviary in Halifax, I be- 
gan to think of keeping pigeons. I had always 
admired the tame birds about the streets, but I had 
never studied them. I knew nothing whatever of 
their habits, except that I had once heard a woman 
whose husband kept a stable, say that it was perfect- 
ly surprising to see the way in which great fat 
young pigeons that had grown to be as large as their 
parents, would follow these same parents about and 
make them put food down their throats. 

Some one told me of a young man who kept fancy 
pigeons in Halifax, and one day my sister and I 
called on him. His birds were mostly white, and as 

III 



My Pets 

I stood looking at this first collection of pigeons that 
I had ever intelligently examined, I was conscious 
of a feeling almost of ecstasy. Only those persons 
who are bird-lovers can understand this peculiar 
delight in the mere contemplation of the restless, 
beautiful creatures. 

Birds arouse certain emotions, and touch a cer- 
tain set of feelings that no other creature has power 
to stir. They are so beautiful, so finished, so fragile 
and elegant, and so helpless. Baby birds always 
remind me of human babies. The young of many 
animals will nose about and search for food. The 
tiny bird does nothing but open its beak. You might 
kill it — it cannot resist, but its helplessness is its 
chief claim to your love and protection. 

In connection with the protective instinct of bird- 
lovers for birds, I was interested in hearing of a 
certain popular English general, who is said to have 
worried incessantly, not over the human beings that 
he had killed when fighting in defense of his coun- 
try, but over the death of a helpless lizard that he 
one day thoughtlessly struck down with his walk- 
ing-stick. He was strong, and the lizard was weak ; 
and instead of protecting it, he killed it. 

Possibly with regard to pigeons, I am too en- 
thusiastic ; but after keeping some hundreds of birds, 
and being devoted to them all, I prefer over and 
over again the bird we have always with us — the 
domesticated pigeon. 

My first pair were fantails — white ones that my 

112 



First Acquaintance with Pigeons 

sister chose from the young man's collection, and 
gave to me for a Christmas present. I used to spend 
hours in watching them. Their tip-toeing walk, 
their convulsive jerking and twitching of the neck 
and chest, and gently bouncing heads, were intensely 
interesting, and not painful to witness, as they 
seemed to enjoy their bodily peculiarities. How- 
ever, much as I liked them, I would class them 
among the monstrosities in pigeon breeds. I prefer 
a straight bird to a deformed one.. The only con- 
solation was that they had never known anything 
different. 

" That fellow lives pretty much in the back of his 
house," said a man, who once stood gazing at a 
fantail. 

Their appetities amused me, and I was informed 
that a pigeon Is capable of eating in a day a quantity 
more than equal to its own weight, though fanciers 
estimate that one-tenth of a pound is a sufficient 
daily amount. 

Their manner of drinking was' also a revelation 
to me, and illustrated the lack of accurate observa- 
tion in the average person. How many times I had 
noticed pigeons about the streets of cities, but now, 
for the first time, I was to find out how they drank. 

I used to amuse myself by saying to my friends, 
" How do pigeons drink? " 

Nearly every one answered, " I don^t know. Like 
a chicken, I suppose." 

" They drink as we do," I used to respond, with 
H 113 



My Pets 

pride in my superior information. *' They thrust 
their bills into the water, and keep them there till 
they have had enough." 

My fantails were very fond of bathing in a big 
pan that I gave them, and used to keep their red 
feet beautifully clean. At night they did not go 
on a perch, but crouched on some projecting bricks 
in the wall. 

After a time I concluded that pigeons liked a 
flat surface to sleep on, so I got some boxes from 
our grocer, had the fronts knocked out, except one 
strip to confine the newspaper and straw I put in, 
and hung them on the wall. 

The pigeons were delighted with them. They 
would fly inside the boxes, step about on the straw, 
coo excitedly, then would fly up on the flat tops and 
go to sleep. 

Later on, when I got more pigeons, I found these 
big cracker boxes far more agreeable to them than 
nesting-pans. The female when setting, likes the 
protection of the covered top and enclosed sides. 
Then the male can always sleep above her, and hear 
her every movement, and he never allows any other 
bird to alight on his particular box. To clean them, 
I would roll up newspaper and straw lining and 
put in the furnace, then set the box aside to be 
whitewashed. 

I usually kept vermin powder in the nests, and 
never was troubled with parasites. Clean bedding 
is absolutely essential for healthy creatures. Many 

114 



First Acquaintance with Pigeons 

persons say that birds are dirty. So is every created 
thing dirty that is not kept clean. Even when I had 
young pigeons I could clean the nests. I would 
warm a newspaper on the furnace for delicate birds, 
put a bunch of soft hay on it, carefully lift the little 
birds on it, and slip them in the box. The parents 
rarely resented my interference. 

I must add to this that fanciers who keep large 
numbers of pigeons, and who do not change their 
nest linings as often as I do, never use hay and 
straw. Red nits crawl into the hollow stalks and 
breed freely. Tobacco stems and pine shavings are 
the nesting materials used, and birds are often al- 
lowed to make their own nests. 

Pigeons kept in captivity do not usually lay eggs 
in winter, if they are kept in a cold place. If they 
are in a warm loft, they will lay eggs and rear 
young ones, but most fanciers separate the male 
from the female birds at the beginning of the winter. 
The spring and summer are enough for the raising 
of young ones. 

I knew that my aviary was warm enough for the 
pigeons to lay in, and wondered why they did not 
do so. They fussed about the nest, giving each 
other resounding slaps with their wings, and finally 
the fancier discovered that he had not given me a 
pair, so he changed them, and I got two buff fan- 
tails instead. 

These were two quiet, businesslike birds, and 
soon I found two eggs in one of the nests. The 

115 



My Pets 

mother sat on them from four or five in the after- 
noon until about ten the next morning. Then, if 
her mate did not fly to the nest, she would groan 
ominously. He always hurried to her when she 
showed this sign of temper, and bowing and cooing 
prettily, would step patiently on the eggs. 

The female would stretch her wings, shake her- 
self, pick off the loose flakes of skin that pigeons 
shed like dust, trip around the aviary to see what 
there was for breakfast, stuff herself well, take a 
long drink, and perhaps a bath, then would sit in 
any ray of sunlight she could find. 

The male bird had to stick to his post till five 
o'clock came. Then Mrs. Pigeon went back for the 
night. This was kept up for eighteen days, until 
my mother, who was a constant visitor to the aviary, 
reported at the breakfast table that she had found 
half an eggshell on the ground. I was quite excited 
about this news that meant the first bird had been 
hatched in my aviary. I hurried downstairs, and 
saw the buff pigeon fly off the nest with another 
half eggshell in her bill. She did not drop it near 
the nest, but took it to the other end of the aviary, 
making me wonder whether this was the survival 
of the habit of wild pigeons that would not want an 
enemy to find a shell near them, lest it might lead to 
the discovery of the young birds. 

The instinct of birds is a wonderful thing. I am 
often amused in watching my canaries eat. For 
over three hundred years they have been domes- 

Ii6 



First Acquaintance with Pigeons 

ticated birds, yet they never keep their heads down 
while eating. There is the dab at the seed, then the 
quick glance about, I suppose from the old habit of 
never for one instant giving up the guard against an 
enemy. 

After I saw the mother pigeon fly back to her 
nest I approached it, and tried to push her aside, 
so that I might see what she had in there. She was 
in a terrible rage, exclaimed at my impertinence, 
and struck me so fiercely with her wing that I 
waited till the father pigeon went on at ten o'clock. 
He was very reasonable, and allowed me to look at 
his treasure, which was more like a tiny yellow 
blind worm than anything else. However, he was 
as proud of it as if it had been fully fledged, and 
whenever it lifted its wobbling head, would pump 
some breakfast down its tiny throat. 

The large crop of the pigeon becomes glandular 
during the breeding season, and secretes a milky 
fluid that softens the partly digested food on which 
the young are fed. This young fellow being alone 
— the other egg did not amount to anything — was 
so well stuffed that he soon became as fat as a lump 
of butter, and down began to appear on his wings. 

I was very much interested in seeing him fed. 
The father pigeon would take the young one's beak 
crosswise in his own, and pull out its neck as if it 
were made of rubber, and then send the milky fluid 
gurgling down his throat. When the young one 
had had enough, he would put his head under the 

117 



My Pets 

parent's breast. The father or mother would 
survey him closely, and if the squab raised his head 
in the slightest degree they would again try to feed 
him. 

In a short time his eyes opened, and very pretty 
yellowish eyes they were. He had a big bill that 
reminded me of a duck, and the enterprising Httle 
creature actually snapped this bill at me when I 
went near the nest. He became covered with dark 
yellow pin feathers, and his fat body was almost hot 
to the touch. He breathed with great rapidity, and 
his mother soon gave up sitting on him at night, 
and perched near-by. Sometimes I felt afraid that 
he might be cold, and would push her toward him. 
She always grumbled at me, and soon I came to 
the conclusion that a mother pigeon knew better 
how to bring up a young one than I did. When 
the squab became fully fledged the mother drove 
him from the nest, and laid two more eggs in it. 
The young fellow, considerably surprised, and un- 
commonly shaky on his legs, hurried to his father, 
and trotted up and down the aviary with him. 

The father, who was perfectly devoted to him, was 
now a pretty busy bird. Several times before ten 
every morning he had to look sharply about to see 
where were the best seeds for his own and his young 
one's breakfast. Then he had to stuflf his crop, and 
grunting amiably, walk to a water dish, and take 
a good long pull at it, for pigeons are heavy drink- 
ers, particularly when feeding their young. All the 

ii8 



First Acquaintance with Pigeons 

time he was doing this I used to think that his 
nerves would certainly give out, for the fat young 
one was waddling about close to him, flapping his 
wings, and screaming for food as desperately as if 
he had had nothing to eat for days instead of min- 
utes. 

When the father was all ready, he would let the 
young one thrust his bill in his, then they would 
both shut their eyes, and the old work of pumping 
down the breakfast would go on. But now, if the 
young one thought he had not had enough, he 
would run all about the aviary after his father, cor- 
nering and enclosing him with his flapping great 
wings, and shrieking spasmodically, " More, 
more ! " After a time he always quieted down, and 
took his morning stroll with his father about the 
aviary. Now that he had left the nest, he was no 
longer a squab, but a squeaker. When his father 
went to " spell " the mother, to let her have a run, 
pidgie would settle down near-by and have a nap. 
He really seemed to be fonder of his father than of 
his mother and — though, as I have said before, we 
must struggle against the tendency to humanize 
birds too closely — the father seemed to be fond of 
him. 



119 




CHAPTER XIII 



THE HOMING PIGEON THE KING OF BIRDS 



ONE day when the poor little squeaker, in 
attempting to fly, got one leg over the perch 
and could go neither forward nor backward, 
and hung with flapping wings, the father flew to 
his relief and helped him over. 

No one knows until he has carefully observed 
birds, what untiring labor is required in bringing 
up young ones. The parents do nothing else but 
feed and watch their nestlings. Every bird seems 
to have the firm conviction that he is in the world 
for the purpose of raising healthy young ones, 
and as many as possible. He makes his nest, raises 
a brood, pushes them off in the world, makes an- 

120 



The Homing Pigeon the King of Birds 

other nest, raises another brood, and so on, until he 
is removed to bird paradise. 

If human beings gave as much attention to the 
raising of their young, we should have an almost 
perfect race. However, we would scarcely lift sick 
young ones out of the nest to die. In that respect 
we are ahead of our bird friends. We might imi- 
tate them in one respect, and that is in the way 
they seem to prevent sick and delicate birds from 
becoming heads of families. I have noticed that 
ailing birds in my aviary, in some way or other, 
do not wish, or are not allowed to have mates. 

One handsome but delicate canary never seeks 
a mate, but all day long flies by his father's side. He 
is quite an old bird, but he never leaves this little 
yellow father, night nor day. The father makes 
nests, raises young ones, and flies about, always with 
his devoted trailer. 

While my buff pigeons grew and prospered, and 
raised other young ones, I got another pair in rather 
a peculiar way. Being in town one morning I 
stepped into an auctioneer's room, and there, in a 
cage, saw a pair of homing pigeons looking very 
disconsolate. I inquired what their history might 
be, and the auctioneer said that a passenger on a 
steamer that had lately come into our fine harbor 
from England, had brought the birds with him, 
and on leaving the train for Northwestern Canada, 
had left the birds behind him. 

" What a strange thing to do," I remarked, as I 

121 



My Pets 

looked at the traveling-cage and the pretty little 
drinking dish. Why did he suppose a man would 
undergo the expense of bringing birds on a long 
voyage from England and then drop them half-way 
to his destination? 

The auctioneer said he would give it up, and then 
I further remarked that the cake crumbs in the box 
were not proper food for pigeons. 

He said he knew it, and he wished I would buy 
them. 

I asked him how much he wanted for them, and 
he said he had no idea how much they were worth, 
but I might have them for one dollar and seventy- 
five cents. 

I had begun to read and inquire about pigeons, 
and knew there were many fancy breeds — fantails, 
pouters with long necks and globular crops, jaco- 
bins with their big hoods, snake-like magpies, short- 
faced tumblers and long-faced tumblers, tipplers, 
dragoons, swallows, owls, and many other kinds, 
but I did not know what the prices ought to be. 

If these birds were trained homers, or work- 
ing homers, as they are called, they would be worth 
more than one dollar and seventy-five cents. How- 
ever, the auctioneer could not assure me of this, so 
I paid him the money, and sent the birds home. 

It was touching to see the pleasure they took in 
getting out of their cage. They ate and drank and 
bathed and ran their pink tongues over the lumps 
of rock-salt I kept about. Nearly every bird I had, 

122 



The Homing Pigeon the King of Birds 

even canaries, would peck eagerly at this salt, 
though caged canaries would die if fed salt. 

These two pigeons flew to the roof-veranda, and 
as soon as I discovered their preferred corner I 
gave them a box in it. There they laid not two but 
four eggs, and sat on them, one relieving the other, 
after the usual intervals. I was very proud and very 
boastful, until after I had a call from my friend the 
pigeon-fancier, who laughed heartily at my two 
birds. 

" They are females," he said, " a pair only lays 
two eggs for a nest." This threw some light on the 
strange actions of the Englishman. The birds had 
probably laid four eggs in their traveling-cage, and 
in disgust at finding that he had two females sold 
to him instead of a pair that would have enabled 
him to raise young ones, he had decided not to give 
them a further trip of a few thousand miles. 

The fancier exchanged one of them for me, and I 
got a fine blue homer, who took kindly to my gray 
one, and soon raised a number of healthy, handsome 
birds. I became very fond of these homers, and on 
learning something of the history of their kind, soon 
surveyed them with feelings of mingled admiration 
and respect. 

They are our best and most wonderful birds, and 
they were our first, for did not one of them perform 
the first messenger service on record in carrying 
the sprig of green to the waiting Noah in the ark? 

The dove was the ancestor of the carrier — and the 

123 



My Pets 

smerle and the cumulet and the carrier were the 
ancestors of the homer, and yet even to-day there 
are persons who do not know what a remarkable 
part pigeons play in times of peace, in times of 
war, and in times of love. 

Ever since the days of Noah this chunky, round- 
headed, clear-sighted, faithful, intelligent little 
creature has been the hard-working servant of many 
nations. The Romans used him in war-time for 
conveying messages from the armies, and an old 
song tells us of a warrior wounded in battle sending 
an outpouring of his heart to his lady-love by 
means of a carrier pigeon : 

Fly away to my native land, sweet bird, 

Fly away to my native land; 
And bear these lines to my lady-love, 

I have traced with a feeble hand. 
She marvels much at my long delay, 

A rumor of death she has heard, 
She thinks, perhaps, I have falsely strayed; 

Fly away to her bower, sweet bird. 

I read in a book about pigeons that, when Brutus 
was besieged in Mutina 43 b. c. by Mark Antony, 
by setting free carrier pigeons that flew over the 
heads of the besiegers and defied the blockade, he 
communicated with the Roman consuls who came 
to raise the siege. 

A certain shrewd Mohammedan ruler of Syria 
and Egypt who reigned in a. d. 1145 had a pigeon 
postal service from one end of his dominions to the 

124 



The Homing Pigeon the King of Birds 

other. Towers were built for the protection of the 
Httle messengers, and from these towers watchmen 
strained their eyes to see that no hostile power at- 
tacked the birds in the service of the monarch. 

To-day, in spite of telegraphy, telephones, and 
wireless communication, the brave birds hold their 
own. They are the messenger-boys of the air. Let 
us mention some of the errands they do. 

They carry stock reports from large cities to the 
suburban residences of their owners. Ocean steam- 
ers carry them out to take last messages back. A 
lady in Boston once told me that she traveled 
through Europe and back again with a homing 
pigeon in her care. This valuable homer had been 
given to her in a basket, as the steamer left Boston. 
She was to release it when one day out. A thick fog 
came on, and as a fog is a deadly enemy to the brave 
little homer, she had to give him a trip abroad. 

In Europe the end of a yacht race or a horse race 
is the signal for the release of a flock of homers, 
who carry the news to private lofts or newspaper 
offices. 

While Gladstone was on his famous Midlothian 
campaign, homing pigeons carried reports from the 
different mining villages to Edinburgh. In the 
seclusion of their traveling-baskets the homers pa- 
tiently awaited the conclusion of each speech of 
Gladstone's at political meetings, and as soon as 
the last words had left the speaker's lips, the re- 
porters fastened their tiny slips to the birds' leg- 

125 



My Pets 

bands — for every pigeon has a ring slipped on when 
he is only a few days old — and gently opening the 
baskets, allowed them to fly up into the air. 

Up, up, still farther went the keen-sighted birds, 
circling again and again to get their bearings, 
then off in the direction of their home-lofts in Edin- 
burgh, where tempting food, fresh water, and their 
loved nest-mates were awaiting them. 

Had these home-lofts been at the South Pole they 
would still have started for them. To reach home or 
die is the pigeon's motto, and thousands, nay mil- 
lions of them have perished for '' home, sweet 
home." 

Pigeons have several enemies. There is the 
cruel gunner waiting for them, and the dreaded 
hawk, that Chinese ingenuity circumvents by at- 
taching shrill whistles to the tail feathers of cer- 
tain of their homers. As the birds pass swiftly 
through the air the whistles blow and the hawks 
will not come near. 

Then there are storms and variable winds, and 
often the birds' overpowering sense of fatigue, for 
many fanciers give their homers cruelly long jour- 
neys to perform. What a temptation to a weary 
bird perching on a tree branch, to rest himself for 
a few minutes, to go with a strange pigeon who so 
politely invites him to his near-by loft, where he 
will find rest and refreshment. 

I have often read with interest advertisements in 
English bird newspapers of homing pigeons in 

126 



The Homing Pigeon the King of Birds 

strange lofts. " So-and-so could have his property 
if he would tell the initials and number on the leg- 
band of a certain bird, and also pay the expressage 
on the roamer." I think the foggy climate is 
largely to blame for these numerous lost birds. In 
a fog a pigeon must stop. He has nothing to guide 
him on his journey. Darwin, who studied these 
birds for twenty years, proved in the first place that 
their memory is phenomenal, and in the second, 
that their eye-sight is limited by the horizon only. 

The United States, following the example of 
European governments, started some years ago 
an extensive system of lofts in the army and navy. 
Professor Marion, of the Naval xA.cademy at An- 
napolis, Maryland, really began the organization of 
the messenger pigeon service for use in time of war. 

Lieutenant Harlow, U. S. N., also started ex- 
periments at Key West, and when hostilities with 
Spain broke out, the navy department found on 
inquiry that Uncle Sam had a number of well- 
trained little war-birds at his disposal. Lieutenant 
Harlow's cote at Key West being only ninety miles 
from Havana, the birds had not long distances to 
fly. In every boat of the torpedo flotilla taken out 
to sea, these pacific, patient birds had their own 
quarters. They were released at intervals, and 
scarcely one pigeon failed to return to its cote at 
Key West, with its cipher message in the national 
water-tight message holder fastened on its leg. 

These patriotic birds are equally ready for peace- 

127 



My Pets 

ful campaigns, if one can call a presidential elec- 
tion by that name. Once, during a hotly contested 
election in Arizona, they did fine service in bringing 
the returns for outlying districts, some of them 
flying at the rate of a mile a minute. 

France is very suspicious of foreign-trained 
homers, since her experience during the Franco- 
Prussian War. At that time she learned the great 
service done by pigeons in bringing relief to be- 
leaguered Paris. Now she does foreign pigeons the 
honor of excluding them from France. An alien 
pigeon cannot take up its residence there except 
under such restrictions as any well-brought-up bird 
would resent. 

Germany too has its pigeons. While traveling in 
that country I was amused at the military aspect of 
many of its inhabitants, and was not surprised to 
learn that it has military pigeons. One can imagine 
the proud carriage of a German war-bird. 



128 




CHAPTER XIV 



PRINCESS SUKEY 



THE little kingdom of Belgium waxes most 
enthusiastic over pigeons. This is the great 
breeding center, this is the real home of the 
modern, thoroughbred homer. Pigeon-flying is the 
national pastime. One-fifth of the entire popula- 
tion are active fanciers, and their wonderful birds 
are sent away in such numbers that special trains 
are made up for them. 

Why should it not be a national sport in America ? 
One can think of no class of persons who would 
not be benefited by taking an Interest in these 
most lovable and intelligent of birds. I have proved 

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My Pets 

by my own experience that it is a delightful relief to 
turn from the strenuous fatigue of a modern day^s 
work to the quiet of a pigeon-loft. Here are hard 
workers, but they are quiet, calm, reposeful. 

Some famous trips have been made by American 
birds, though, as the number of lofts increases, the 
tendency is not to fatigue birds by too long a 
journey. Five hundred mile one-day records are 
made, but they are not very frequent. Homers can, 
however, fly much farther than five hundred miles. 
One owned by Mr. Samuel Hunter, of Fall River, 
Mass., flew home from Montgomery, Ala., a dis- 
tance of over one thousand miles, and two homing 
pigeons lately arrived in their loft in Boston, Mass., 
greatly exhausted by a trip from Minneapolis. 
They had flown about twelve hundred miles. 

Homers are especially valuable for physicians 
with a large country practice. They are faithful 
and trustworthy medical messengers. The doctor 
leaves a pigeon with a sick patient. In a few hours 
it can be released and will return to its physician- 
owner with the latest account of the condition of 
his patient. 

One medical man relates in a book about pigeons 
a charming story of a child patient who was ill 
with fever. The doctor had left, and the child sat 
with his arm around the basket containing the 
pigeon messenger, who was quietly waiting till the 
time came for him to be sent to report the boy's 
condition to his master. 

130 



Princess Sukey 

The mother, to interest her child, related the 
story of the dove that Noah sent from the ark. 
To her delight the bird in the story and the bird in 
the basket combined to soothe the child, who pres- 
ently fell asleep with a smile on his weary face. 
He was better, and the birds had helped him. 

While pigeons are excellent pets, and a means of 
relaxation for weary persons, I hold that of all 
classes to be benefited by their study and care I 
would put first boys and girls. Taking care of 
pigeons is easy work. They are hardy creatures, and 
books as to their management can be easily obtained. 
Nothing keeps a boy out of mischief Hke a loft of 
pigeons. Let him have homers by all means, rather 
than the elegant fancy pigeon monstrosities that 
care to do little but strut about a loft. Let him train 
his birds and have his traveling-basket to send them 
on railway journeys. Arrangements can be made 
with railway officials to release them at a given 
point. 

The latest news that I can get of homing pigeons 
is from the Paris correspondence of the London 
" Standard." 

It seems that the French authorities in the African 
Congo district have had some trouble in communi- 
cating with each other. They could not keep up a 
telegraph system, for mischievous natives delighted 
in cutting down telegraph poles, and in using them 
for firewood. Wild elephants also amused them- 
selves by uprooting one pole after another. Wire- 

131 



My Pets 

less telegraphy could not be practised on account 
of the tropical atmosphere often charged with elec- 
tricity, and generally saturated with moisture. 

What was the French government to do? A 
pigeon post was suggested, and they started with a 
main pigeon depot of one hundred birds at Brazza- 
ville, and will have a chain of stations at a distance 
of about twenty-five miles. The chances of a bird 
being killed or going astray are put down at two 
per cent., so that a message sent over a hundred 
miles by four pigeons would have ninety-two 
chances out of a hundred of reaching its destination. 
A message of extra importance would be sent in 
duplicate by two birds. Besides the use of these 
pigeons for regular postal service, it is planned that 
travelers, explorers, and military scouts will also 
carry a few. 

One other item of interest about homers I find 
in a late newspaper: A bird was released from a 
balloon over Dover, Vt., eight thousand five hun- 
dred feet in the air, and above the clouds. The 
earth was invisible, but the homer in a short time 
arrived safely at its Fall River cote. 

Now, after all my praise of the hard-working, 
clean-shaped homing pigeon, I must make the con- 
fession that the favorite bird in my aviary — the one 
that I am perhaps foolishly fond of, is not a homer, 
but a monstrosity. However, there is a reason for 
my fondness for her, and I will relate the peculiar 
circumstances that endeared her to me. 

132 



Princess Sukey 

I had obtained a pair of ruffed, elegant jacobins, 
and they had settled down in the box of straw I 
gave them, and had hatched two tiny squabs. One 
morning later I found one of these squabs a short 
distance from the nest. I picked it up and examined 
it. It had one deformed wing, and had either 
perished in the nest, or had been gently lifted out to 
die on the bare ground. I suspect the latter expla- 
nation was correct, for the next morning on going 
into the aviary I found the other squab on the 
ground. It was opening and shutting its beak pain- 
fully, and was evidently just gasping its last. I 
ran to the furnace-room and laid its cold body on 
the warm iron. 

Then I examined it. There was nothing in its 
crop, and its little yellow, languishing body was 
thin and miserable. I took it upstairs, wrapped it 
up, and put it on a hot water bag, then gave it some 
bread and milk. The only way I could get the 
little exhausted creature to eat was by putting its 
feeble beak to my mouth and letting it take the 
food from between my half-closed teeth. 

When night came I was puzzled to know what 
to do with it. I did not seem to realize the finality 
of the parent birds' act in putting a young one out 
of the nest, and carefully arranging a cloth nest 
on a hot water bag, so that it would not die of 
cold, even if the mother refused to sit on it, I took 
it down to the aviary and put it with its parents. 

Of course, they did not go near it, and in the 

133 



My Pets 

morning I found my pigeon again apparently draw- 
ing its last breath. I hurried it upstairs, and it 
did not go down again. I made it a bed in a little 
basket, and kept it near me night and day. It was 
powerfully ugly, and the family teased me a good 
deal about my pigeon, but I told them I had made 
a vow to save its life. I tried a good many experi- 
ments in feeding it, and very often in the middle 
of the night I would spring up and look at the 
basket to see if the little delicate creature were 
still alive. 

Later on I learned how to bring up young 
pigeons successfully, but this one I almost killed 
by giving wrong food to it. I found later that a 
mixture of rolled oats, bread crumbs, and a few 
drops of milk and water — the whole made very fine 
and soft, agreed well with it. I got a medicine- 
dropper and a syringe, but for some time it would 
only eat from between my teeth or my fingers, this 
being the nearest approach to the parents' beak. 
After a while I made different kinds of grain and 
seeds into pills and slipped them down its throat. 
The bird soon became very tame, and would flap 
its wings and scream for food whenever it saw me. 
It was dubbed Princess Sukey by my sister, but for 
some time she was a ridiculous looking princess. I 
found she had a form of indigestion, and as she 
has had this ever since, I fancy that her parents, dis- 
covering this, had made up their minds that she was 
not worth bringing up. 

134 



Princess Sukey 

A curious thing happened as soon as she opened 
her eyes. The young pigeons in the aviary always 
hissed at human beings who went near them. Prin- 
cess Sukey, on account of her upbringing, looked 
upon human beings as her friends, and when I 
showed her a bird for the first time, she rose up in 
her nest, clapped her beak, and hissed in terror. 

She hated birds, and has hated them ever since. 
One day, when she was a plump young pigeon, her 
father walked up to her, bowing and scraping as 
polite pigeons do. I was greatly amused to see 
Sukey take him by the long neck feathers and give 
him a good shaking. She had made up her pigeon 
mind to give birds the go-by and join her lot with 
me and my family, for she liked all of us, though 
I was her chief favorite, as I represented her food 
supply. 

This father of hers was rather an inconstant bird. 
Once, when his own mate was very much in need 
of his services to help her in bringing up young 
ones, he left her to play with a lively, attractive 
pigeon, called Fanny Fantail. This Fanny was a 
bird without a mate, and a lonely male or female 
pigeon, or any other . kind of bird, makes more 
trouble in an aviary than half a dozen pairs. I had 
to separate her from the jacobin before he would go 
back to his own nest. 

For months Sukey was one of the ugliest birds 
that I ever saw. She had a long, poor crop of 
feathers on her body, but her big hood did not de- 

135 



My Pets 

velop until she was full-grown. Her bare neck, 
ugly head, and yellowish eyes, made her a kind of 
laughing-stock, but soon there was a transformation. 
The blue blood in her told, and when her lovely red 
and white feathers did start, she was a beauty. It 
was the story of the ugly duckling over again. 
Her superb indifference to birds amused us greatly. 
Through the summer she followed me about the 
roof-veranda, sat in my room wnth me, or waited 
patiently for me if I went out. During my absence 
she would sometimes attach herself to some other 
member of the family. She v/as very fond of play- 
ing with me. She would sit on my shoulder, and run 
her beak over my ear and cheek ; and if I were read- 
ing, she would peck the leaves of my book. If I 
sewed, she caught my thread and sometimes so 
bothered me that I would put her out of the room 
and shut the door. Then she was in distress, and 
would trot up and down the window ledge out- 
side, tapping the glass with her beak, and pleading 
eloquently to be allowed in again. 

The veranda was alive with birds, but she paid 
no attention to them, unless one of them came near 
her, to have a sly peep in the tiny mirror on the 
window ledge. Any such presuming bird, if she 
could catch it, she would beat thoroughly. . She had 
no curiosity about new things, except human beings. 
One day I placed her in front of a horned toad, 
and my sister took her photograph. She seemed to 
be looking intelligently and inquiringly at it, but in 

136 



Princess Sukey 

reality I don't think she cared in the least about it. 

These horned toads are really Hzards, and in 
California we used to keep them in our rooms. 
Their most remarkable habit is that of ejecting 
blood from their eyes. My sister once saw a toad 
that was being teased spurt blood from its eyes. 
After exercising this power the toad often becomes 
limp and exhausted. 

The Mexicans call them " sacred toads," because 
they weep these tears of blood. It is thought that 
this discharge of blood is a means of protection. 
When worried, by a superior animal, the little toad 
can partly blind his enemy by shooting blood in his 
eye; and while the enemy is recovering from the 
pain, which the blood seems to cause him, the toad 
can make his escape. 

The creature was not afraid of Sukey, and I never 
saw him shoot blood from his eyes while with us. 
Unfortunately he was stepped on and died. 

Before Sukey was a year old she had a trying 
illness, brought on by a too rich diet and too much 
dancing. 

One of my brothers had been with us for the 
Christmas holidays, and had brought his little girl 
with him. It amused us to see Sukey dance, so we 
used to blow lightly on her feet, and she would 
spin round and round for us. After a while her 
feet became purple and inflamed, and she went 
lame. 

I put her in a basket, covered her up carefully, 

137 



My Pets 

and took her to our kind family physician. He gave 
me an antiseptic wash, helped me bathe her claws 
and tie them up, for by this time they were very sore, 
and had turned black. 

Sukey took this affliction so much to heart that 
she moped and would not eat. I had no intention of 
losing her, so I made pills of seeds and rolled oats 
and slipped them down her throat. In a short time 
she got well, but unfortunately lost two of the 
claws on one of her red feet. I cut short her 
supply of hemp seeds, for I had been too indulgent 
in the past. It is strange what a passion almost 
every bird has for this oily, rich seed. Even birds 
too small to crack it will eat voraciously of it when 
it is crushed. 



138 




CHAPTER XV 



PIGEONS AND HAWKS 



AS Sukey grew older her indifference to other 
birds became stronger. ,1 never saw her 
watch a bird or follow its motions with any interest, 
unless it was to get out of the way of a larger bird 
that she was afraid of, or to aim a blow at a little one 
that came too near her. She had identified herself 
with human beings ; and if there were none near her, 
she drew her head into her hood and sat meditatively 
waiting for one to come along and play with her. 

As she felt so keenly on the subject, I only al- 
lowed her to pay flying visits to the downstairs 
aviary. All winter, when she could no longer go 

139 



My Pets 

out on the veranda, she trotted about the room I 
had given her, or sat buried in meditation on a box 
high up on the wall. That was her room, her big 
bed, her box, her pincushion, and her sunny win- 
dow. She had driven me from it, though at first 
I had been willing enough to share it with her. She 
used to sleep at my feet, but when she developed an 
amusing but tiresome habit of waking up every 
morning at daylight, trotting up to the head of the 
bed and ordering me to play with her, I chose 
another room. She often visited me there, and 
when I was confined to my room by a cold, she 
always spent the day with me along with my books 
and newspapers. When my tray came up she was 
always excited and interested, and trotting up to it, 
examined it carefully. She particularly liked 
creamed toast and my little dish of butter. 

One day I heard an outcry in the dining-room 
below, and found that she was being driven from 
the family butter plate there. When I hurried 
downstairs in the morning, fearful of being late at 
family devotions, I would often hear her coming 
after me, step by step, her little claws sounding 
plainly as she hopped, not flew down. She never 
used to fly unless obliged to do so to catch up with 
us. We did not fly, and identified with us as she 
was, she preferred our means of locomotion. While 
prayers were going on she sat demurely on a sofa 
back, occasionally murmuring " Rookety cahoo ! " 
After breakfast she flew to my shoulder and de- 

140 



Pigeons and Hawks 

scended with me to the aviary, strutted over the 
earth floor, then followed me upstairs to her room. 

My study was also a favorite place, and often as 
I sat writing I would hear a light footstep, then a 
rush of wings, and Sukey was on my shoulder. 
After writing awhile I would look up at her and 
ask, " Do you approve of that sentiment, Sukey ? " 
She always bowed her head politely, and this pigeon 
habit of bobbing the head was a great source of 
amusement to the neighbors' children, who often 
called on her. 

" Are you glad to see the children, Sukey ? " 
I would ask her, and her bow was always received 
with outbursts of laughter. Naturally I was careful 
only to ask questions that required an answer in 
the affirmative. If I became too much absorbed in 
my writing to play with her, she would get im- 
patient, and descending to the desk, would catch at 
my pen or, naughtiest trick of all, drink from the 
ink bottle. Often I have looked up, discovered a 
dripping black beak, and have rushed from the 
room to wash her mouth. 

Although she loved my study when I was alone, 
she hated it when it was full of company. Often 
visitors would beg to see the Princess, and I would 
send upstairs for her. She was not really afraid, 
but she hated a crowd, and after holding her by 
force a few minutes, I would put her on the floor, 
and with her ruff shaking with anger she would trot 
into the hall and go upstairs to her room. 

141 



My Pets 

One day she laid an egg on my writing-desk. I 
took it upstairs, made a nest of soft cloths for her, 
and put the egg in it. The third day she laid 
another egg. I advised her to take the bed for a 
nesting-place, and although she subsequently laid 
eggs in other places, this, for a long time, was her 
chosen home, and she would drive any other bird 
from its sacred precincts. 

She seemed fascinated by these two eggs, and 
sat on them nearly all the time, caressing them, and 
turning them over and over with her beak. I was 
amused with her actions, for she had no shyness 
and no fear of human beings. Of course, every bird 
turns her eggs over to keep them in condition, but 
how seldom one sees a bird in the act of turning 
them. Sukey's actions with her eggs then and 
since convince me that she really had some kind 
of attachment for them. I had had an idea before 
this that the sitting on eggs was duty work, the 
only real pleasure coming with the nestlings. 

If any bird dared alight near these precious eggs 
she would peck furiously at it. She was also re- 
luctant to leave the eggs unless I would watch them. 
If I would sit down beside them she would at once 
step carefully off them, lift up her feet like a skirt 
dancer, and stretch first one long wing and then 
another, as if tired of sitting, then go for a walk 
about the room. 

The instant I rose she would rush back to her 
nest, and if she got hungry before I had leisure to 

142 



Pigeons and Hawks 

return to her, she would hurry to her seed-box and 
eat so rapidly that it seemed as if she would choke. 
She had made up her pigeon mind that she would 
not let those beloved eggs get cold. 

Often as I sat by her nest she would bring me 
little wisps of straw, and would tuck them around 
the eggs, or would hold them out to me in her 
beak, meaning that I was to have the privilege of 
arranging them. Her actions were very curious and 
interesting, and I could not help wondering whether 
human beings were often honored by birds to the 
extent of being requested to assist in the work of 
making a nest. 

Better than straws were hairpins, hatpins, or 
safety-pins. She had been brought up in a bed- 
room, and my pincushion had always been an 
object of interest to her. I have seen her take a 
long hatpin in her beak, toss it up in the air, catch 
it, and go to her nest with it. 

The invisible hairpins were her chief favorites, 
and one day my sister said to me, " I cannot imagine 
where all my invisible hairpins are." 

" Go to Sukey's nest," I said, and there she found 
neatly arranged around the eggs the missing hair- 
pins. I have often taken sharp pins from her nest, 
in the fear that she might stick them into herself. 

After a time I began to worry about her pro- 
longed sitting. She had no mate to relieve her, and to 
sit day and night, except in the short intervals when 
I took care of her eggs for her, was too great a strain 

143 



My Pets 

on her constitution. So one day I went down to the 
aviary, got a youthful squab from one of the pigeon 
nests there, and taking away one of Sukey's eggs, 
sHpped the squab in its place. Her back was 
turned to me during this last maneuver, but pres- 
ently she came trotting along with a straw in her 
beak. 

When she saw the squab she stopped short with a 
dreadful stare, then dropping her straw she took 
squabbie by the neck and shook his tender flesh till I 
hastened to rescue him, and gave her back her 

egg. 

Later on I took her eggs away from her and put 
them in a covered box. She seemed to know they 
were in the box-, for one day I found her trying 
to worry the cover off, and a second day she had the 
cover off and was sitting on the eggs. A third time 
I found her standing on the box and fighting my 
doves away from it. This time I turned the doves 
away, Hfted the cover, and she stepped in and sat 
on the eggs. One day, after I had put the eggs in 
the box, she flew to my shoulder, and I felt some- 
thing tickling my ear. Looking around I saw that 
she had a straw in her beak and was trying to coax 
me to put it beside the eggs. 

I have often felt sorry that I have not kept a 
record of the number of eggs that my Princess has 
laid. She begins in the spring and lays all summer, 
sometimes one, sometimes two eggs, and at inter- 
vals of about six weeks. When she was two years 

144 



Pigeons and Hawks 

old I took her with my other pigeons to my farm in 
the country. 

I now had quite a number of pigeons. Among 
them a special favorite was Crippie, a lame black 
tumbler. He was fat and in good condition, but 
had had since he began life an absurd walk or wad- 
dle, his legs being spread very far apart. I had been 
advised to kill him, but had refused. There was 
nothing the matter with him but his lameness, and 
he was a dear, gentle bird, and had been partly 
brought up by hand. A tumbler is supposed to turn 
over and over in the air as he flies, but Grippie never 
tumbled. 

Two other pet birds were homers — Tweedledum 
and Tweedledee. Their parents had deserted them, 
and they too had been brought up by hand. Then 
I had magpie pigeons, an exquisite white owl 
pigeon called Owlie, some archangels, and speci- 
mens of a few other birds. 

I had had a demure nun pigeon that I bought in 
Boston. At least she looked demure with her convent- 
like garb, but she turned out to be a vixen, and 
used to drive my guineapigs about the aviary till 
they succumbed with fright. At first it was amu- 
sing to see her marshaling the pigs and driving them 
before her, but I soon found out that what was fun 
for her was death for the pigs, so I sent her away. 
When I took all these fancy pigeons to the country 
I confined them in a loft for a time till they got used 
to their new quarters and began to make nests. 
K 145 



My Pets 

Then I opened a window and allowed them to go 
out. 

My whole family was impressed by the delight 
of these birds in real, untrammeled liberty. For 
generations their ancestors had been kept in confine- 
ment, but there was enough wild blood left to make 
them appreciate what was now spread before them. 
The first day I let them out they flew about un- 
certainly, then sat in a row on top of the carriage- 
house. The building was reasonably high, the barn 
was higher, the near-by house was surrounded by 
tall trees, below them were meadows, plowed 
fields, and a pine wood. They had altogether two 
hundred acres of their own property, and beyond 
stretched one large farm after another, along one 
of the most beautiful valleys in the world — the one 
which finally reaches the far-famed land of Long- 
fellow's " Evangeline." 

No wonder that the pigeons were delighted. 
They timidly tried another flight, then another, 
wheeling in wider and wider circles, always coming 
back to the carriage-house, and gazing about them 
as if they were " lost in wonder, love, and praise," 
my father sagely remarked. 

As the days went by they flew constantly about 
the farm. I never saw one leave it, though I heard 
of some of my old homers calling at distant farms. 
The young homers hatched on the place would, of 
course, not leave us. 

Away beyond the farm w^as the long North 

146 



Pigeons and Hawks 

Mountain, and beyond the mountain was the Bay of 
Fundy, well known for its high tides. So, in con- 
nection with my pigeons, I could truthfully recite 
Walter Prichard Eaton's lines : 

The doorway of their coop unloosed, they spring 
Straight up above the housetops noisily; 
An instant pause, a sudden swoop of glee, 
Then high against the blue on tireless wing 
Their wide-expanding, perfect circles fling; 
From that great height they look to open sea, 
The far green woods smile up invitingly — 
But still the keeper counts their homecoming. 

Unfortunately, when we first went to the farm, 
there were a few hawks about that succeeded in car- 
rying off a number of my beautiful pigeons. These 
hawks came with such frightful celerity that unless 
one sat all the time with a gun in hand it was 
impossible to shoot them. We could protect the 
chickens, for when the hawk was coming, the little 
wild birds that were fed about the farmhouse 
would scurry through the air in a hurried, unnatural 
way. If we noticed them, and called to the chick- 
ens, the petted things would run for shelter. Not 
so the pigeons. They never hurried to their lofts. 
When they saw a hawk they rose swiftly in the air 
and flew madly round and round. 

The hawk would get the poor flyers, and any 
that were handicapped, except Cripple and Owlie. 
He never got them, and I wondered at it. He car- 
ried off a fine, red jacobin that I had sent up from 

147 



My Pets 

Halifax, hoping Sukey would be friendly with him. 
She beat him so persistently that I put him out with 
the others. He looked very handsome sitting up 
aloft with his red hood about his head, but one day 
he disappeared, and later I found a heap of his 
pretty feathers at the foot of a pine tree where 
the hawk had carried him to tear him to pieces. 

I lost twenty pigeons, but only three chickens. 
It was very pathetic to see those three disappearing. 
On one occasion I was close by. The hawk seemed 
to fall like a bullet from a clear sky. He seized the 
poor little unfortunate and bore it off by the head, 
its legs dangling helplessly in the air. 

These hawks were not large ones, and at a little 
distance looked like one of my big homers. After 
a time we were not so much troubled by them. I 
had tried to get rid of them by keeping guinea- 
hens, for the country people round about said that 
no hawk will approach a farm where a guineahen is 
kept. I thought I would try the experiment, and 
bought a fine pair of guineahens that never wan- 
dered, as many of the tribe do. The hawks did not 
mind them at all, and swooped down on the chick- 
ens when they were close by. 

Our best friends were the crows and the king- 
birds. A pair of crows built a nest in a tall tree 
close to the boundary of our farm, and one of them 
was always sailing through the air to keep the 
hawks away. More intrepid than the crows were 
the kingbirds or beemartins, so called because of 

148 



Pigeons and Hawks 

their supposed fondness for the honey bee, though it 
is now asserted that they eat only the drones. 
These kingbirds had a nest close to us, and it was 
most gratifying to see the way in which they chased 
both crows and hawks. They were better than a 
gun, and I used to wish long and earnestly that 
there was some way in which I could reward them. 



149 




CHAPTER XVI 



SUKEY AND HER FOSTER PIGEON 



THE winter after Sukey went up to the farm I 
had some anxiety about her. She had a poor 
digestion; she always was a small eater, and she 
seemed to feel the cold of the unusually severe 
winter we had. Every bitter night she had a copper 
foot-warmer to sit on, and I would often get up be- 
fore daylight and give her something to eat. One 
peculiarity that she has is that she eats by arti- 
ficial light, a thing that most pigeons will not do. 
She has always been accustomed to an eleven 
o'clock supper. She goes to bed at dark, but at 
eleven, when I enter the room with a lamp, she 

150 



Sukey and Her Foster Pigeon 

wakes up, stretches herself, greets me with an 
amiable " rookety cahoo ! " then lets me lift her down 
to her seed-box, where she eats with the lamp close 
to her, runs her pink tongue over her lump of rock- 
salt, drinks heartily, and goes back to her perch. 

I do not recommend this supper, except in the 
case of very delicate or sick birds. Sukey has been 
so frail that I have often found her almost dead 
from exhaustion, and she will not eat the different 
grains that other pigeons eat. She confines herself to 
rice, millet, and hemp. 

When spring came she was much stronger, and I 
played an amusing trick on her. When she made 
a nest and laid eggs I went one day to the 
pigeon-loft outside, where my pet Tweedledum, a 
daughter of the bird that had come from England, 
had a nest. I pushed Tweedledum aside, saw that 
one of her eggs had just broken and a squab lay 
inside. I took the squab inside his egg-shell and 
went back to the house. Concealing what I carried 
I went up to Sukey and told her to go for a 
walk. This she was very happy to do, and while 
she was gone I took one of her warm eggs from the 
nest and put the young squab and his shell inside. 
Soon she returned, stopped short, and stared at the 
nest as if to say, " Is it possible that an egg of mine 
has hatched out at last ? " 

Then, as if her suspicions were aroused, she 
turned to me with a dreadful stare of inquiry. 
I did not dare to laugh. It seems to me that she 

151 



My Pets 

has grown so intelligent that she knows when I 
am laughing at her. I nodded my head as if to 
say, " Yes, it is your own pidgie," then I pushed her 
on the nest. 

She stepped very carefully over the little bird — 
it is wonderful to see the pains a mother bird takes 
not to injure little ones — she settled down over it. 
It was adopted. I was delighted. Now I would see 
what kind of a mother she would make. She sat 
on it steadily day after day, but to my amusement, 
for I had not reckoned on this, she started to feed 
it whole seeds from her crop. 

She knew how to take its little beak in her own, 
this pigeon that had never associated with her kind ; 
but of course she would have killed it with her 
whole seeds, so, as a punishment for the trick I had 
played on her, I had the task of feeding Sukey be- 
fore she fed the squab. This I did by slipping pills 
of bread and rolled oats down her throat. To my 
further amusement the role of motherhood soon 
bored her. She did not really love birds, and she 
got tired of this squab as soon as he left the nest. 

She is a slight creature, and this stout young 
homer with his big flapping wings, and his hoarse 
and piercing cries for food worried her and upset 
her usual calm. She ran from him, and we were 
often convulsed with laughter at the sight of Sukey 
fleeing from her adopted baby. I always had to 
catch him and feed him, and then he would go and 
squat down beside her and behave himself. 

152 



Sukey and Her Foster Pigeon 

We called him Whistler, from his shrill cries 
after Sukey, and after a few weeks I again visited 
Tweedledum's nest and took out of it the squab 
I had left. I wanted to compare it with Whistler, 
to see the difference between the one I had brought 
up and the one the mother had raised. 

I found that mine was slightly smaller than hers, 
but was much more mature — it had a wiser eye, and 
acted more like a grown-up bird. Hers was more 
fluffy and was, of course, very shy. It snapped its 
bill at us and kept in a corner. Sukey began to beat 
it, so I hurried it back to Tweedledum. 

When Whistler grew older he made his way out 
to the front and side of the house, where we had 
hammocks and tables, and always afternoon tea. 
Sukey, of course, came with him, and it was amu- 
sing to see these two birds perched on the hammock 
ropes while the four dogs lay underneath and the 
family sat about, reading and talking. In the dis- 
tance were cats, hens, pigeons, sparrows, wild birds, 
calves, and pigs wandering about the farmyard and 
orchard. 

If we all went into the house or disappeared about 
the farm, Sukey and Whistler would either follow 
us, or would go to the doors and wait for some 
one to let them in. I have often smiled to see baby 
Whistler all alone — such a tiny pigeon — standing 
patiently by the big hall door. Sukey would trot 
after us away down to the river, but he did not 
care as much for walking as she did. 

153 



My Pets 

They were never supposed to be left a minute 
alone out of doors, on account of the hawks, but 
sometimes we forgot them. One day we had been 
interested in the packing of some fine Siberian crab- 
apples from a tree down by the road. All the family, 
including Sukey, had been there. When the dinner- 
bell rang we came back to the house, and not until 
we were at the table did I remember Sukey. I 
sprang up and rushed to the crabapple tree. She 
was not there. She had been sitting on a post, an 
easy mark for a keen-eyed hawk. 

I ran back to the house, intending to ask the 
family to join me in a search for our especial pet, 
but it was not necessary. There, on the kitchen 
veranda, sat the little hooded creature patiently wait- 
ing for the door to be opened. After we left her she 
had trotted up the short avenue after us, and had 
taken her station there. 

" Sukey," I said, as I caught her up, " I was afraid 
that the hawks had caught you." 

" Oh, rookety cahoo ! " she replied consolingly, 
" rookety cahoo ! " 

When I sold my farm and went back to the city 
I could not make up my mind to take the homers 
with me. They had enjoyed themselves so hugely 
in the country that I resolved to leave them. City 
life would mean confinement ; for these farm-hatched 
birds, if let loose in Halifax, would endeavor to 
return to the farm. 

I took only four pigeons back with me, Sukey, 

154 



Sukey and Her Foster Pigeon 

Whistler, Crippie, and Owlie. Poor Owlie died of 
some mysterious disease, and Crippie in his black 
tumbler suit, seems to mourn constantly and sin- 
cerely for her. 

Whistler, I am sorry to say, after his return to 
the city, developed into a confirmed pugilist, and 
some one had to take time to fight with him every 
day. Bracing his two red feet firmly he would close 
his eyes, grunt vigorously, keep a tight hold on the 
finger that had been extended to him, and jerk 
convulsively like a dog that has hold of another 
dog's throat. His pinches and twists were so sci- 
entific that at last we wore gloves while contesting 
with him. After getting pretty well warmed up he 
would vary the twisting process by giving hard 
slaps with his wings. 

Two years ago I was going away from home for 
a few months, and begged my father to have the 
care of entertaining Whistler, for his beatings were 
too severe for my mother. My father obligingly 
consented, and every day while I was gone put on a 
pair of gloves and went into the aviary to let 
Whistler fight him. 

The bird, at this time, used to sit the most of the 
time by the aviary door, waiting for us to come and 
amuse him. His upbringing with Sukey had un- 
fitted him for pigeon society, and if he had not been 
so rough I would have allowed him to come up- 
stairs with her. 

She was shocked and disgusted by his bullying 

155 



My Pets 

ways, and would have nothing to do with him. He 
deteriorated until he became dangerous, and one 
day this last summer when I went into the aviary I 
taxed him with the disappearance of Crippie, my 
beloved lame tumbler. 

He, of course, gave me no satisfaction, and after 
a time I discovered my poor cripple creeping from 
under a tree with a battered and bleeding head, 
and one eye closed. I washed and dressed his 
wounds, and took Whistler upstairs to my room. 
" You are a very bad bird," I said, " I don't know 
what I am going to do with you." He strutted and 
cooed and gurgled with glee, and walked round 
and round me. This was just what he wanted — to 
come upstairs with me. 

" Go into that closet, you wicked pigeon," I went 
on, " and sleep there." This was still better fun. 
He walked into the closet, found some rubbers there, 
and began to talk to them. ** At last you have some 
safe playmates," I went on, ** you may beat them as 
much as you like." 

There were two storm rubbers and two sandals, 
and as the days went by I saw that Whistler really 
considered them some new kind of pigeons. He 
bowed politely to them, pushed them about with his 
beak, talked to them, and one day I took an egg of 
Sukey's, made a nest, and put it in the closet 
with a sandal on top of it. Then I called Whistler, 
who looked delighted with this new arrangement. 
He gave an agreeable nod to the sandal, gently 

156 



Sukey and Her Foster Pigeon 

moved it aside with his beak, and stepping on the 
nest, sat all night beside the egg. 

Of course I did not keep him in the closet all 
the time. He spent a good deal of time with me, in 
no danger of being trodden on, for I have been so 
much with birds that I have developed a shuffling 
gait in order to avoid stepping on them. 

Every morning I put him out on the roof- 
veranda, but he was never allowed to be alone with 
Sukey. If I left him I got some other member of 
the family to watch him. He behaved himself as 
long as we were present, but if left alone with her 
would seize her by the long neck feathers and wipe 
the floor with her. Sukey, who had continued de- 
veloping, was now far beyond him. She abhorred 
this barbaric conduct, and more than ever before fled 
from him in terror. 

She had now gone in for scientific nest-making, 
and her materials were more and more peculiar. 
One of the last I pulled to pieces consisted of as- 
sorted sizes of hairpins, a black-headed pin, a half- 
burnt match, a withered mayflower, a feather from 
an indigo bunting's wing, and some little sticks of 
different shapes. I saw her one day tossing my 
mother's spectacles up in the air, as if deliberating 
whether to put them in the nest or not. Finally she 
threw them on the floor. 

Another thing that she did not throw on the floor, 
but put in the nest, was a garnet finger-ring that she 
stole from my dressing-table. I took it out, but it 

157 



My Pets 

soon afterward disappeared. However, if Sukey 
lost it she did it unintentionally, for the nest would 
be its destination. 

In addition to varying the materials she chose 
different and safer places for her nests. An old fur 
cloak, folded up on the telephone-table is a favorite 
spot. Last summer she sat there a great deal of the 
time, and did not object strongly to any member 
of the family using the telephone, but growled 
ominously when a stranger approached. One day 
I heard a man plead with her not to grumble at 
him. 

Always of a jealous disposition, she has become 
more sensitive as to any attention bestowed on other 
birds. She will leave her food at any time to fly 
to me, and protest vigorously if she hears me pet- 
ting another bird. If I am feeding a young one she 
flies right on it, jabbering excitedly, and tries to wean 
my attention from it to herself. She does not like 
us to notice any other creature, and some time ago 
she gave an exhibition of what we thought was 
jealousy of a dog. 

She had been sitting on two eggs, and my mother 
one day took them from her. Sukey eyed her 
strangely as she did so, for to have any person but 
myself take her eggs was an exceptional thing. 
After my mother left the room Sukey followed her, 
and I followed Sukey. My mother had disappeared, 
but Sukey pressed right on to her bedroom, and 
flew to the arm of a rocking-chair. There she sat 

158 



Sukey and Her Foster Pigeon 

gazing pensively at my mother's little dog Billy, 
who lay in a chair by the bed. 

" What are you doing in here, Sukey? " I asked, 
" you never come in this room. Come back to your 
own." 

I took here there, but she would not stay, and 
once again I followed her to my mother's room, 
where she sat staring at Billy. 

I told the family of the occurrence, and we con- 
cluded that it was possible that Sukey had, in pigeon 
fashion, reasoned that my mother had stolen her 
eggs to put them under her own pet — the dog. 

Sukey did not dare to beat him, although the dog 
always treated her with the greatest consideration. 
She never hesitates to beat birds smaller than herself 
if she gets angry with them or with me. Some- 
times when I am reading or sewing she caresses 
me until she gets tired, then puts her head down for 
me to rub it. If I am too much absorbed to do so, 
she beats me. Then I push her from me. Her eyes 
sparkle, she goes round and round on the floor, 
saying angrily, " rookety cahoo ! " then darts at 
the nearest bird, usually an unoffending white dove 
that loves to be near her. The little dove's feathers 
fly until I spring up, rescue her, pick the white 
down from Sukey's bill, and apologize for my inat- 
tention. In these fits of rage she reminds me of 
children who do not dare to strike their parents, 
and who attack some one smaller than themselves. 

A curious trait in this pet pigeon of mine is her 

159 



My Pets 

sensitiveness to any change in my dress. At first I 
could not believe that she distinguished colors, and 
knew an old gown from a new one, but at last I 
became fully convinced of it. 

Pigeons wear the same gown all the time. They 
do not moult into different colors, and Sukey does 
not like me to do so. When I moult into a new 
hat or a new gown she is either in a fright or a 
rage. If the former, she holds herself erect, packs 
her feathers and becomes slim, and grunts like an 
Indian several times — *'Ugh, ugh, ugh ! " 

One can never mistake the pigeon sound of fright. 
If she is merely angry she flies on the hat, bites it, 
scolds incessantly, and shows her displeasure with me 
by talking rapidly. In the case of a dress she trots 
round and round me on the floor, biting the hem in 
displeasure. I have been amused with the curious 
way in which she dissociates my hands from my 
head. Some time ago I found out that she con- 
siders my hands aliens and enemies. She loves my 
head, but when she is caressing it the unkind hands 
often lift her away. So she spends hours in fight- 
ing them, and sometimes as I sit reading with her 
on my lap, I have to hide my hands or she bites them 
till they are sore. 



i6o 




CHAPTER XVII 



MINNIE POST-OFFICE 



DURING the six years that I have had Sukey 
she has spent all her winters, except the one 
on the farm, in her warm, furnace-heated room up- 
stairs. Last winter I became worried about her 
throat, and had our family doctor examine it and 
prescribe for her. He gave her tincture of iron, 
and for a long time she had her little bottle of med- 
icine and her tiny spoon and dropper. 

I had been in the habit of keeping a few other 

delicate birds upstairs with her, but finding that the 

inhabitants of the lower aviary did not get sore 

throats, nor very dried-up claws, I decided that 

L i6i 



My Pets 

Sukey had been kept too warm, and resolved to put 
her and all my other birds downstairs. 

If I had been at home it would have been a very 
difficult matter to keep her there. However, I was 
coming away, and I could not bring her with me, 
so a week before I left I carried my pet bird down to 
the inhospitable room in which she had been thrown 
from her nest as a baby, and told her she must stay 
there. 

She ran after me to the wire door and begged to 
come out. I told her that the imprisonment was 
for her good. Her health would probably improve, 
and she would become less abnormal. I had been 
educating her out of her sphere. 

She is not the kind of bird to die of grief, but 
she did not like my plan for her. She placed her- 
self on a stone ledge by the door and sat there night 
and day, except when eating and drinking. I fast- 
ened a little box against the wall for her to sit on, 
and left strict injunctions with the maid who was to 
take care of her that if she fretted she was to be 
taken upstairs. 

She does not fret. She eats and drinks and sits 
on her box, but all the time she is listening for me. 
When she hears any one coming in the basement she 
calls out, hoping that I am returning. 

She is receiving a great deal of petting from my 
parents, and the maid writes that occasionally my 
pet bird lights on her shoulder. However, I know 
that no one can take my place with my pigeon. She 

162 



Minnie Post-office 

is as faithful as a dog, and bird-lovers will under- 
stand how eagerly I look forward to a reunion 
with her. It would be unwise to project into her 
the emotional qualities of a human being. She is 
not suffering, she is only waiting, but it is something 
to be able to wait in the days of a fickle and restless 
generation. 

Poor Whistler too is waiting, but I cannot feel 
the same sympathy for him that I do for my 
Princess, and I smile whenever I think of him. He, 
for the winter, is alone in the cage that was built for 
my owl. It is a good size, and he is high-stepping 
round it and talking incessantly to a pigeon that I 
got in rather a curious way. 

One day last summer one of the numerous boys 
who bring me birds, rang the bell, and announced 
that a new pet was approaching. 

I tried not to laugh when I found that my new 
pet's carriage was a steam roller. The big, dirty, 
noisy thing was drawn up near the house. A man 
black as the roller, from his contact with the coal, 
was coming toward the door, and in his hand he 
held a sooty pigeon. 

" It is from the post-office," he said ; " I was tak- 
ing the roller by, and frightened two pigeons so that 
they fell from their nest. One went among the 
market women, and I don't know what became of it. 
This fellow lighted on my box, and though the boys 
begged for it, I shut it up and brought it to you." 

The post-office is about a mile from our house. 

163 



My Pets 

I thanked him for his kindness to the bird, and 
invited him upstairs to see its new home. He fol- 
lowed me to the roof-veranda, and I examined the 
bird. One squawk that it gave, and its size, pro- 
claimed it to be young, just ready to leave the nest. 

" I will feed it for a day or two," I said, " then 
let it go." 

He thanked me and went away, and I fed that 
pigeon from the last day of July till the last day of 
September. 

** What is the matter with it? " I asked, " is it be- 
witched? Its capacity for food seems endless." 

L never had fed a pigeon for so long a time, but 
Minnie Post-office, as we named her, did not seem 
able to get a morsel to stay in her bill. 

If I did not feed her she would peck at seeds, but 
they rolled right out of her mouth. For several 
weeks my brother-in-law assisted me in feeding her, 
as I had a number of other birds that no one but my- 
self could care for. Three times a day her dish 
of water, her box of pills, and her feeding bib were 
brought out. She was a wild pigeon, and in order 
to keep her still during meal-time we had to put a 
cloth around her shoulders. 

When my brother-in-law had to return to his 
university, and October approached, I put Minnie 
downstairs in the aviary. 

" I am very sorry," I said to her, " but I can feed 
you no longer. If you can't pick up food for your- 
self, you will have to starve or be poisoned." 

164 



Minnie Post-office 

" I tried her for a few days. Her crop always 
seemed empty, but she lived; and, to my delight, 
Whistler struck up a friendship with her. I put a 
box close to the wire netting of his cage, and he 
stood on a box inside, and Minnie stood on the one 
outside, and they talked to each other all day long. 

One day I put her inside his cage, but she was 
frightened, and he did not care half as much for the 
attainable as for the unattainable. When I sepa- 
rated them they went on billing and cooing, and I 
know are at it yet. 

It is an excellent way for her to spend her time. 
Birds must have something to take up their atten- 
tion or they mope to death. I know that my gentle 
Crippie stirs Sukey up occasionally and makes her 
trot about the ground enough to give her exercise. 

One other pigeon I have in my aviary — the 
Tramp — that a little boy brought to me a week or 
two before I left home. 

" I found this bird in a field," he said ; " I guess 
his wing is broken.'' 

The wing was not broken. I kept the bird by him- 
self for some time, and decided that he was half- 
starved and deadly weary. He had started to moult, 
and his poor jagged feathers had not been able to 
carry him more than a few feet from the ground. I 
put him in with the others, and left him eating and 
drinking and meditating. I hope he will not put 
on flesh and beat his fellows before I return. 

When I get on the subject of pigeons it is difficult 

165 



My Pets 

for me to stop talking. I shall be pleased if I have 
convinced any doubters that they are really intel- 
ligent birds, and the ones most suitable for domes- 
tication. Any one can keep a few by giving them a 
room or a part of a room in an attic and allowing 
them to fly in and out through an open window. 

One thing I am firmly convinced of — pigeons 
should always be under supervision. Bird-lovers 
are not apt to be annoyed by them, but non-bird- 
lovers often complain, and justly complain, of un- 
wished-for birds that come and make untidy nests 
and disfigure their buildings. Every city should 
maintain pigeon-lofts. There should be, in a few 
exposed places, rooms where they can go in and lay 
eggs in boxes prepared for them. The cost would 
be trifling, and one would have the squabs to 
dispose of. 

I have educated myself into laying sentiment 
aside. Pigeons should not be allowed to increase 
indefinitely, nor should large flocks be fed all sum- 
mer and be allowed to starve all winter. They 
should be regulated. Every summer a certain num- 
ber of squabs should be mercifully killed. 

I managed in this way on my farm: Each pair 
of birds had two large nesting-boxes. When their 
first pair of squabs was ready to leave the nest they 
were just suitable for the market. I gently lifted 
them out and delivered them over to one of the men 
about the farm. The little creatures had had a 
happy life. They had an instantaneous death. The 

i66 



Minnie Post-office 

parents, taken up with the second nest, never re- 
sented the removal of the first pair of squabs. 
Whereas, if I had kept taking their eggs from them, 
they would have become uneasy, and would have 
tried to find a safe place to build. 

It would have been cruel to keep all my squabs. 
Few farmers wanted them. I could not feed a large 
number, and I decided that the right way was to 
kill them, though that one thing — the necessity of 
taking life would easily have destroyed my pleasure 
in farm life, if I had allowed it to do so. 

One thing I have discovered about them, making 
them more suitable than any other birds for pets, is 
that they do not mind careful handling. My 
pigeons climb about me like pups, and they are the 
only birds I have that do not object when a hand is 
laid over their wings. All my other tame birds 
will light on my shoulder or hand, allow me to talk 
to them, but would be overcome with uneasiness if I 
put my hand over their only means of escape from 
an enemy — their wings. 

My pigeons go to sleep on my lap, and let me 
fondle them as much as I choose. Indeed, I should 
say from what I know of them, that a pigeon that 
has once formed an attachment for a human being, 
will never entirely go back to pigeon society. 



167 




CHAPTER XVIII 

MY FIRST CANARIES 

SOME years ago I heard John Burroughs lecture 
in Boston in the rooms of the Procopeia Club 
on " Observation of Nature." 

He said that we see in life what we look for, 
and told of Thoreau who had a great faculty for 
finding arrow-heads. A friend with whom he was 
walking one day asked him how he found them. 

'' In this way," replied Thoreau, stooping down 
and picking one up. 

After I became interested in birds I found them 
all around me, and even in my small native city dis- 
covered that there existed several fine collections of 
birds, especially of canaries. 

i68 



My First Canaries 

I visited these collections and, observing the great 
variety of canaries, found that it is with them as it 
is with pigeons. The original stock has been so 
transformed and improved on that one cannot 
recognize the little wild ancestral canary of the is- 
lands off the coast of Africa, in their diversified 
descendants. 

There are the nervous, high-strung Belgian ca- 
naries with the humps on their backs, making them 
look like tiny yellow camels, the Scotch fancies with 
their half-circles of bodies^ the insignificant look- 
ing Germans with their exquisite song, the fluffy 
French, the strangely marked hybrids, and the large, 
handsome English birds, often eight inches long and 
with brilliant coloring. 

This coloring arises from the desire of bird- 
dealers to have scarlet birds. They used to have 
plenty of deep-gold canaries, and in order to in- 
tensify this color, tried experiments in feeding 
saffron, cochineal, port wine, and beet-root to no 
avail ; but finally a bird-keeper discovered that 
cayenne pepper was what he needed to turn yellow 
to scarlet and make his birds the sensation of the 
canary world. 

My first canaries were, however, none of these 
thoroughbreds. In those days I did not think of 
raising young ones, and one day taking pity on some 
underfed, ugly birds in the house of a poor woman, 
I bought two and took them home with me. They 
were not clean and they were not pretty. The sickly, 

169 



My Pets 

yellow one I named Jessie, the dark-green one with 
a pitiful attempt at a crest I called Minnie. Jessie 
did not live long. She had no constitution, and one 
of my Brazil cardinals took a dislike to her and 
struck her, and though I rescued her, she finally 
died. To replace her I got another — this one a 
prettier bird called Jennie. 

My next canary was a thoroughbred, the son of 
an English prize bird. I paid five dollars for him, 
which was very cheap. I fell in love with him, as 
he nervously danced about his cage, and as long as 
I had him he was the most remarked bird in my 
aviary. He was much larger than the ordinary 
canary. His body was mottled green and yellow, 
his heavy crest hung so thick and drooping over his 
eyes that it partially obscured his sight, and the 
long, silky feathers of his body and legs made him 
look as if he had petticoats on. He was really a 
monstrosity, but was such a dear bird and so inter- 
esting, and withal so intelligent, that all the mem- 
bers of the family loved him. 

He was terribly intense. I never before and 
never since have seen a bird that took such a vivid, 
picturesque interest in everything that went on 
around him. I put him in my study when I got 
him, and, tossing his head so that he could look 
under his drooping crest, he examined everything in 
the room and every one that came into it. To my 
delight he soon began to sing — a heavy, overpower- 
ing song, and as he sang he danced like a profes- 

170 



My First Canaries 

sional dancer, shaking and twisting and agitating 
his long feathers. 

When I got him it was winter-time, and I did not 
dare to put him in the aviary lest he should take 
cold. So, as he could not go down to Minnie and 
Jennie, I brought them up to him. They had a 
large cage near one of the windows, but not too 
close to it, for canaries do not like draughts any 
better than human beings do. They were supposed 
to stay in their cage, but they spent the most of 
their time out in the room with me. 

Norwich, as I called my beauty, was enraptured 
with these new birds, and almost agitated himself to 
death in trying to make himself agreeable. Minnie 
was his favorite from the first, and Jennie fell into 
unhappy jealousy. 

Minnie really had a most extraordinary amount of 
character and individuality for such a tiny bird. 
She was self-willed, determined, clever, and full of 
resources. She made up her mind that Norwich 
should like her better than he did Jennie, and she 
swayed him to her will. He was good-natured, 
agreeable, and anxious to please — a mere tool in the 
hands of such a clever bird as Minnie. When 
Minnie had, by various wiles and devices, succeeded 
in attaching him to herself, she began to think of 
nest-making. 

I cared nothing about raising young birds, and 
gave them only an amused attention. She flew all 
about my study, picked every floating bit of down 

171 



My Pets 

and shining motes from the floor, seized feathers and 
scraps of paper, and chose as her first nesting-place 
— one of the gas globes. As fast as she placed a bit 
of nesting material in the globe, it fell to the 
floor. This did not discourage her for a long 
time, for the patience of birds is infinite. They 
work steadily and persistently at anything they 
wish to accomplish, and seem to think with the 
great Napoleon, that a difficulty is merely something 
to be overcome. They are also sweet-tempered, and 
not at all resentful toward any person or any bird 
who might help them in accomplishing their object, 
whatever it happens to be, but who does not do so. 

So Minnie worked steadily on day after day until, 
at last, she was convinced that the globe was cer- 
tainly bottomless, and I was convinced that I was 
acting very shabbily in not encouraging so indus- 
trious and patient a bird. I therefore fashioned a 
rough nest out of twigs — for I was new to the busi- 
ness myself — and put it in a corner of her cage. 

She watched me with great interest and curiosity, 
and as soon as I had left the cage, flew to it, ex- 
amined it, and adopted it as her own. It was a 
shaky structure, but the little uncomplaining bird 
found it quite satisfactory, and was delighted to dis- 
cover that the pieces of cloth and string she put in 
did not fall through the bottom of it. 

This was not my first experience with the curiosity 
of birds; I had found that I could not enter the 
aviary and throw down even a scrap of paper with- 

172 



My First Canaries 

out having a cloud of birds around it as soon as my 
back was turned, picking at it, pulling it, as if to 
discover why I had put it there. 

Birds and animals know more than we think they 
do, and they certainly have some way of reading our 
minds, probably by some slight visible sign. 

When my father in his study forms the design 
of going downtown, the dog at his feet rises, and 
shows by his actions that he knows of this design. 
What tells him? My father has done nothing to 
acquaint the dog with his purpose just formed-. 

Apparently he has done nothing, yet he has. He 
has put by his pen with an air of finality, or he has 
pushed back his chair in a certain way, or he has 
glanced at his watch. Something tells the little, in- 
telligent creature, who guesses the meaning of my 
father's action more quickly than we human beings 
would, that he is going out of the house. 

In the same way, I have been struck by the cer- 
tainty that when I enter the aviary with the intention 
of catching a certain bird, he knows it, and he alone 
gets excited. If my sister were with me she would 
not know which bird I was about to lay my hands 
on. The particular bird knows by the glance I give 
him. 

When Minnie had finished lining the nest I gave 
her, and began to sit on it, Jennie became wild with 
jealousy. She flew at the nest, pulled pieces from it, 
and was such a scandal and shame to Minnie and 
Norwich that, wishing to please her too, I made 

173 



My Pets 

another nest and put it in the other end of the cage. 

Now she too was happy, and began to lay eggs 
and to sit on them. I thought this a satisfactory 
condition of affairs, but as time went on I became 
convinced that two hen canaries should not have 
nests in the same cage. 

Norwich spent all his time with Minnie. He sat 
by her, talked to her, filled his beak with food that 
he put in her pleading one, and sang to her, until 
the exasperated Jennie would call out as if to say, 
" Have you not a word for me ? " 

Norwich would draw himself up, look at her un- 
easily, as if he were asking, ^' Why can't you let a 
fellow alone ? " then would continue his attentions 
to Minnie. 

Jennie almost boiled over, and leaving her nest 
flew at Minnie's, often seizing a beakful of stuffing, 
to the great detriment of the eggs. Minnie too had 
a temper, and lowering her head and spreadirig her 
wings, would rush at her former friend, shaking like 
a little fury, while the uneasy Norwich would al- 
most fidget himself off his claws, squeaking un- 
comfortably as if to say, " I don't see why you two 
ladies can't agree ! " 

I soon took Jennie away. She was a nice little 
bird, and I did not like to see her unhappy. She 
went back to the aviary, and lived there happily for 
some time. 

Now ensued a season of calm for Minnie and 
Norwich. In thirteen days her eggs began to hatch. 

174 



My First Canaries 

I had never seen young canaries before, and ex- 
amined them with deep interest as they lay at the 
bottom of the nest — three tiny yellow and red 
lumps of flesh, developing long necks and micro- 
scopic open beaks when Norwich touched them 
tenderly with his own. 

How he did stuff them! I wish that all human 
babies had such devoted parental affection as those 
tiny birds had. All day long he hung over them, 
and the instant the little heads were raised he was 
ready with his beak full of the perfectly fresh egg- 
food I made for them. 

Every night he nestled close beside them and 
Minnie. I have never had another canary do this, 
the father bird usually sleeping a little way from the 
mother. Norwich and Minnie were a remarkable 
pair. She was so businesslike and resourceful; he 
was so intensely sensitive and affectionate. 

The young birds developed wonderfully, and in 
three weeks were as large as their parents, and had 
hopped out of the nest. Fortunately, these were fine, 
large birds, more like the handsome father than the 
dowdy mother, but as time went by I saw the im- 
portance of careful selection in the mating of birds. 
I had and have children and grandchildren, great- 
grandchildren and great-great-grandchildren of my 
handsome Norwich and underbred Minnie. Many 
of these birds are strong, and nervous, and hand- 
some like the father. Several of them have been 
subject to mysterious decline and death. There the 

175 



My Pets 

poor blood on the mother's side of the house comes 
in. Have good parents and you have good offspring. 

As soon as the warm weather came I put Nor- 
wich and Minnie out on the roof-veranda. Now 
they were happy, and disproved all the nonsense that 
is talked about caged birds preferring a cage to 
liberty. I grant that a canary always has a certain 
lack of fear with regard to a cage. He will enter 
it to feed, even to sleep, but if you leave the door 
open he will spend more time outside of it than in it. 

Any of my canaries would fly about the street out- 
side our house and would return to the roof-veranda. 
I have no doubt but what I could have allowed many 
of them this liberty all the time if it had not 
been for the cats. These cats were most amusing. 
I am fond of the cat tribe, and could not find it in 
my heart to be angry with them, for they were so 
perfectly open and frank in their demands for 
birds. 

One old fellow would follow me about the garden 
as I looked for green stuff for the birds. His mouth 
was wide open, he was fairly yelling for a nice 
plump pig"eon or canary, or a bright-headed for- 
eigner. 

" Pussy, it is quite impossible," I would say 
gravely ; " I love those birds, I cannot give them to 
you to crunch to pieces in your jaws." 

" Me-ow, wow ! " he would cry in despair, and 
would go and sit close to the aviary windows and 
watch them. 

176 



My First Canaries 

The birds did not mind him, nor the other half- 
dozen feHnes that gazed with him. They only 
minded the nocturnal ventures of the cats, for there 
were enterprising ones that climbed the twenty 
feet into the air of the wire elevator and promen- 
aded over the roof of the second story of the house. 
Often at night I have been awakened by a cry of dis- 
tress from a bird or a sound of wings beating against 
the wire netting and, stealing out, have found an ad- 
venturous pussy on the roof. These cats never 
went down the way they came up. Every few 
mornings I had the task of inducing my cat friends 
to return to terra firma. 

One day I was amused to see a neighbor's child 
with a lone kitten in his hands, begging an old cat 
to come down off the roof to her young one. She did 
not, till I assisted her — this time, I think, by means 
of a bean-pole. Finally, a cat got up on the roof, 
and would not come down. No kind of persuasion 
touched her. So I sent for a carpenter and a ladder, 
and after he brought pussy down I had him put a 
wide board round the elevator that said, " so far and 
no farther," to the cats. 

To return to Norwich and his first nest of baby 
birds, and also his subsequent ones. I think I 
allowed him and Minnie to raise three sets of young 
ones this first summer, though two would have been 
enough, so great a strain on the mother is the rear- 
ing of nestlings. 

I wanted to know whether the father bird taught 
M 177 



My Pets 

the babies to sing. I used to watch these young 
ones when they began to listen to the singing around 
them, and made first faint, hoarse efforts at song 
themselves. Norwich too listened to them with evi- 
dent pleasure, and sang a great deal himself, in a 
way that showed the act of singing was a relief 
to his nervous, excitable nature. He was apparently 
not trying to teach them. He sang when angry or 
glad — he wanted to express his own emotion. 

I never saw him or any other father bird deliber- 
ately try to give the young ones a lesson. The 
young ones certainly acquired something from the 
father's song, but they also took up the notes of 
other birds. No two birds sang alike. There was 
always a slight variation. 

As time went by and I got other canaries, there 
was a great deal of quarreling. Canary fights con- 
sist of shrieks and screams of anger, a flying to- 
gether high up in the air, with a great fluttering of 
wings and striking of beaks, then a coming down 
again. It is all fuss and feathers with no blood- 
letting. 

Norwich, with his long feathering, was perfectly 
ludicrous when he quarreled. He would tremble 
with rage, and from under his crest which, by the 
way, I had shortened when he went into the aviary, 
he would dart furious glances at any canary that 
happened to be meddling with him. Then, when his 
rage was over, or not quite over, he would dance 
and sing as if his little throat would burst. 

17S 




CHAPTER XIX 



RAISING YOUNG BIRDS 



MY canaries with their bites, and nips, and 
blows, reminded me of naughty children. 
However, it does not do for a bird to be too 
meek in an aviary. The bird that, when struck 
on one cheek, turns another, must say good-bye to 
happiness. The bird that keeps out of the way and 
is never attacked, gets on very well, but the bird 
that is not afraid to stand up to a bully, has the best 
time of all. 

I was amused with a hen bird one day that was 
attacked by a larger bird. She had no time to fly, 
but she opened her beak and spread her wings, and 
made such a horrible and such a determined face 

179 



My Pets 

that her assailant yielded her the perch and flew 
away. 

I saw many singing contests, especially when there 
were two males anxious to please one female. The 
first canary would do his prettiest, then would de- 
liberately stop and listen to his rival. I have often 
seen this first canary hitch up to his rival, and peer 
down his distended throat as if to say, " Where does 
all that noise come from ? " 

My canaries were the most industrious birds I 
had. I have never yet had a canary in health, that 
when spring began, was not immediately seized with 
a rage for nest-making that lasted till late in the 
autumn. 

They like a new nest for every clutch of eggs, and 
a canary whose ancestors have been kept in cages for 
generations, will go right back to his wild habit of 
building in trees if you do not give him a nest-box. 
Even if there is a nest-box, some prefer the trees. 
I used a great many traveling-cages for nests, and 
hung them on trees and walls where the little birds 
could find them and build inside. These tiny cages, 
made of fir, whittled during the long winter eve- 
nings in Germany by miners and woodcutters, and 
sold for two and a half cents a cage, were for the 
canaries what the cracker boxes were for the 
pigeons. They were protected at the backs and 
sides, and the father birds could sit on the top. 
From the fronts of the cages I removed a few bars 
so the parents could go in and out. 

i8o 



Raising Young Birds 

It was wonderful to see the little canaries at work, 
flying to and fro with their beaks full of nesting 
materials. Fibrous roots should be given them, 
long, fine dry grass, cow or dog hair, rabbit down 
and feathers, though my canaries got enough of the 
latter in the aviary. Cotton wool and long lengths 
of twine should not be provided lest they entangle 
their feet. 

When I found that my canaries liked soft white 
string better than anything else, I cut it in short 
bits for them. They discarded any bright-colored 
material, except for the interior of the nest, and I 
supposed this was because they did not wish to 
attract attention. It was amusing to see two birds 
tugging at one piece of twine, neither not in the 
least inclined to yield. The hen canaries used to 
shriek and scream at each other, and then their mates 
would interfere, and there would be a general 
fight. 

In addition to singing when angry, birds sing 
when sad. One sunny day last March, when I let 
my birds out in the elevator, one bird sang so ex- 
quisitely that I could not help saying to myself, 
" Any one going by this house would say, * What a 
happy bird!' — whereas I know he is singing be- 
cause his little heart is nearly breaking." I had 
just found his mate dead in the aviary. She was a 
bird I had only had for a short time, and I think 
was very delicate. She never got to know me well, 
and was not fond of me, and when she for several 

i8i 



My Pets 

days detached herself from other birds, and came 
about me, I was afraid I was going to lose her. 

I have noticed again and again, without exactly 
understanding it, that an ailing bird that is doomed, 
will follow me about and watch me, as if seeking the 
help I cannot give. Any bird is tamer when sick 
than when well. A beautiful bullfinch, that I once 
had, became so tame before he died that he would 
go to any member of the family. One day my 
mother called me and, pointing to this pretty crea- 
ture in his shining hood of black and his crimson 
breast, she said, " Who is this little negro ? He is 
sitting on my comb, and he just now dipped his 
beak in that mug. What does he want ? " 

" He is ill," I said, " and thirsty, and I am going 
to lose him," and I filled the mug with water, where- 
upon he drank with evident pleasure. 

To come back to the matter of birds singing from 
unhappiness. I have had persons say to me, " My 
canary is perfectly happy, he sings all the time." 

If it is the springtime, I say, " I am sorry for 
your bird ; he is lonely. Why do you not give him a 
large cage and get another canary to be company 
for him ? He might not sing so much, but he would 
be happier." 

" Oh, I don't want a large cage — it would be in the 
way. I think he is all right." 

Later on birdie often dies, and my friend buys 
another. 

The traffic in canaries is simply enormous. In 

182 



Raising Young Birds 

Germany, France, England, and Belgium, bird- 
keepers are hard at work raising young canaries 
for the American trade. American bird-importing 
houses employ a large number of men who go from 
one breeding-house to another in Europe and select 
the birds to be brought to New York, which is the 
distributing depot for the United States and Canada. 

If the little bird singing in your window is 
insignificant in appearance, but has an exquisite 
song, he probably came from the Hartz Mountains. 
Very likely the principal income of the inhabitants 
of the village in which he was hatched, is derived 
from canary-raising. 

They have bird schoolrooms with a school- 
teacher's box in which will be found an old bird, 
trained by a lark or a nightingale. When the time 
comes the cover is raised from the teacher's box. 
As he sees the light he bursts into a sweet, beautiful 
song, in long, low trills, deep rolls, flutes, turns, 
bells, bubbles, and other exquisite technicalities. 
The young birds stop feeding to listen, and in time, 
they too become perfect. The Germans educate 
their birds as thoroughly as they do their human 
singers, and they command excellent prices for them. 

When the little birds are fully trained, some of 
the best are kept at home, and the others come in 
immense and valuable shipments to America in the 
tiny wicker cages. There is often great suffering 
among them. The voyage may be rough or dis- 
ease may break out. The bird-dealers are said to do 

183 



My Pets 

all they can to protect them, and only send ex- 
perienced men with them, but the birds have many 
enemies, notably rats. Their attendants must watch 
day and night to protect their tiny charges. 

It seems as if there might be American schools for 
canaries, if they must still be sold for cage-birds. A 
bird hates travel, and one shudders to think of the 
sufferings of our little feathered friends on the long 
journeys. 

One day I found in Halifax one of these little 
German birds. He had just come from New York, 
and I bought him, took him home, and called him 
St. Andreasberg and Andy for a nickname. His 
only blemish was a pair of very scaly legs. That 
meant either old age or disease. However, they 
soon improved, though he has never had really 
smooth legs and claws. 

He was a tiny fellow, pale yellow with a suspicion 
of black over one eye. He was not a first-class 
singer, but he had long, rippling notes, and when I 
heard him sing for the first time I was enraptured. 
I had never heard a lark sing, nor a nightingale. 
Andy's notes gave me some idea of what their song 
would be, for he was evidently a trained singer. 

I got another little German bird for him, and the 
two have been model parents, raising one set of 
young Germans after another, until now I have 
their descendants to the third and fourth genera- 
tions. They don't all sing as well as he does. If I 
had shut them up in a room with him, they might 

184 



Raising Young Birds 

have done so, but I let them all go in the aviary, and 
mixing with Norwich's family, they soon learned to 
sing partly in the English way. 

It is very amusing to hear one of these German 
birds begin his father's strain then break off and 
sing in Norwich's style. Only one German bird — 
Andy's first young one — sings almost the same song 
that his father does. 

I am delighted with the flight of these birds — the 
offspring of caged birds. Norwich never learned to 
fly well. He had a kind of scalloping flight, but 
all his young ones fly like wild birds. Andy's are 
just as swift, and I find that these birds raised in an 
aviary are invariably stronger and larger than their 
parents. Greater variety of food and more exercise 
account for this. 

Though I gave Norwich his liberty, I kept Andy 
in a cage for years. His eldest son hated him, and 
that brings me to one of the mysteries of bird life. 
The father and mother are devotion itself while 
bringing up a set of nestlings. They really seem to 
love the tiny creatures so dependent on them that 
they would perish if left to themselves. However, 
when the time comes for young birds to leave the 
nest or, rather, when the time comes for them to 
feed themselves — for most parents feed them for 
some days after they have stepped out, or have been 
pushed out of their home — the parents are either in- 
different to them or are apparently cruel to their 
formerly beloved offspring. They fly away from 

185 



My Pets 

them, they often push and beat them, they usually 
seem to have no affection for them. Andy fed his 
little son until he was old enough to feed himself, 
then he turned against him and did not want him in 
the big cage with him. 

I thought this was quite natural, as Andy wished 
to make another nest, so I turned the young one into 
the aviary. He did not forget his father. Oh no, 
he remembered him only too well, and whether 
prompted by feelings of revenge or not, I can- 
not tell, but for years when he could elude me he 
would follow his father's cage and fight with him 
through the bars until he had plucked out all the 
short feathers about Andy's beak, and made the 
place raw and bleeding. 

Of course I stopped this by keeping the cage out 
of his way, and I did not dare to let Andy loose in 
the aviary until about a year ago. Then I thought I 
would try the experiment. Andy had two dangers 
ahead of him. He was an old bird — he was old 
when I got him, and I had had him several years — 
and his son would certainly seek his life. However, 
I let him and his mate out on the roof-veranda. 
They got on beautifully, this pair of elderly birds. 
There was no affection for the cage in their tiny 
breasts. They forsook it, moped if I put them back 
in it, built nests as high up as birds that had never 
been in a cage, fought the son and came out even — 
a little exercise is good for a bird. I believe more 
caged winged creatures die from monotony than 

i86 



Raising Young Birds 

anything else — and they are to-day living happily in 
the aviary with big and little birds. 

It is wonderful how aviary life preserves birds. 
Last summer there was a number of very fine 
English birds for sale in a store, and I watched 
one among them with interest for weeks. All his 
companions were sold, and he was left. 

One day I said to the bird-dealer, " Give him to 
me to take home. He wants special attention and 
food." 

" Take him," he said, " he is dying with asthma." 

I took the bird home, named him the Britisher, 
and let him loose on the veranda, found he was 
frightened to death and could not fly, and put him 
in a large cage. For weeks he had egg-food, bread 
and milk, crushed hemp, plenty of green stuff, all 
kinds of seeds, in fact anything he wanted to eat. 
Then I once more opened his cage door. He sat 
about for a few days, then sallied forth, learned to 
fly, and stole a mate from another canary, one of my 
swift-flying, aviary-hatched birds; then with fear- 
ful recklessness he chose the most dangerous corner 
of the veranda for a nest, close to the spot my 
Brazil cardinals considered sacred to themselves. 
I don't know why they did not drive him away, or 
kill him. For days he sat complacently near them, 
guarding himself from the attacks of the swift 
flyer, whose mate he had stolen. 

I put some food and water on a shelf near him, 
for if he descended on the floor he was at a disad- 

187 



My Pets 

vantage. Finally, I found him with a badly bitten 
leg, and put him back in his cage. His little mate 
followed him in, and stayed with him until he was 
able to go out again. He descended into the aviary 
with the other birds when the cold weather came, 
and it used to delight me to see the big, handsome, 
delicate creature sitting breathing spasmodically, but 
enjoying himself, watching his little mate. 

He did not succumb till a week or two ago. When 
the maid wrote me that " a big yellow bird had died, 
and was bearried in the garden, it being a very hard 
thing to bearry it," I knew I had lost my bird of 
short, brief friendship — my pet Britisher. 

Two of Andy's grandchildren, little beauties 
called Cowlie and Tippet, did a pretty thing last 
summer that seemed intentional. As the veranda is 
large, members of the family often sit out among 
the birds, and this pleases the tamest ones very 
much. They come sociably about us, perch on our 
laps or shoulders, peck at our work-baskets and try 
to run away with threads that we snatch from them. 
A favorite trick to play on the birds is to let them 
seize the end of the thread on a spool. Thinking 
they have a prize they fly away but soon find that 
their prize is endless and give it up in disgust. 

Cowlie one evening, had been hanging about my 
sister who was reading in the sunset. He was sing- 
ing his prettiest good-night song, and he was so 
persistent about it that at last she dropped her book 
and began to praise him. 

i88 



Raising Young Birds 

He listened with his pretty yellow head on one 
side, then flew downstairs and came back with his 
young brother Tippet, who is as fine a singer as he 
is, and a remarkable little bird. When he was still a 
baby and being fed by his parents I have seen him fill 
his beak with the egg-food and feed other babies 
younger than himself. 

Having brought Tippet to my sister, Cowlie began 
a duet with him, and until it was time for them to 
fly to their perch for the night, delighted us with an 
exquisite flow of rippling bird-music. I do not know 
a prettier sight than a little bird in full song. My 
young Germans often lift one claw as they sing 
and distend their little throats till we laugh at them, 
and tell them they look as if they were trying to 
raise tiny yellow beards. 

One day I got one of these aviary-hatched young 
ones and put him in a cage. He was not frightened, 
but he was so puzzled at my action that he did not 
know what to do. What was the cage anyway, and 
what were the perches for? It never seemed to 
occur to him to light on them. He clung uncom- 
fortably to the side of the cage till I at last took pity 
on him and let him fly out to the trees of the aviary. 

The number of nests that the canaries made did 
not embarrass me, but what should I do with the 
eggs. I could not treat them as I did the pigeon 
eggs, and I was not willing to raise young birds and 
give to friends to put in tiny cages. I at last hit 
upon the expedient of visiting my canary nests every 

189 



My Pets 

few days, and taking out a certain number of eggs 
till they were all gone. The canaries did not care 
much about eating them, but Dan, the mockingbird, 
was delighted to have fresh eggs for breakfast, and 
would dart upon them with avidity. 



190 




CHAPTER XX 

CANARY CHARACTERISTICS 

AMONG my canaries were two hybrids, who 
were half -goldfinch and half-canary. They 
were fine, dark birds, more like their wild parent 
than their domesticated one. 

While I had my farm I let all my wild birds fly 
away, except old Bob, the robin. I deliberated 
about the hybrids, and finally decided to let them 
take their choice, so after keeping them on the farm 
for a year I one day opened the door and told one 
of them that he might fly away with the goldfinches, 
purple finches, and other birds I had just released. 

He went happily, and I heard later that he had 
called at a farmhouse farther down the road. I 

191 



My Pets 

hope that he found his wild kindred and migrated 
with them. I did not know whether to let the other 
one go or not. He was a fierce little creature, with 
a beautifully marked goldfinch back, but his spirit 
was Norwich's — that is, the nervous part of it was. 
Norwich was never cruel. He had in addition to this 
mental excitability, inherited Norwich's peculiar leg 
feathering, and he was the only one of Norwich's 
descendants that had done this. There was the 
little, dark fluffy skirt above the clean goldfinch 
legs, and he also danced while he sang his exquisite 
and constant song. A bird-dealer once coveted him, 
for hybrids are valuable, but I decided that nothing 
would induce me to imprison in a cage this little, 
wild, free spirit. 

One day I found him beating a canary so severely 
that I said to him, " You are too bad for a house, go 
and play with your goldfinch brothers." It was the 
Fourth of July I remember and, opening the door, I 
pointed to the tall maples about us. He went out 
with no apparent reluctance, but he would not leave 
the farm, and for the rest of the day he flew about 
the house, striking the aviary windows and calling 
to the birds inside. 

When night came he flew to one of the trees. The 
next morning he resumed his siege of the house, and 
I had to give in. " Come back," I said, opening the 
hall door, " if you are as fond of your half-brothers 
and sisters as that, rejoin them. I will never put 
you out again." 

192 



Canary Characteristics 

He came In like a feathered streak, and I have 
him to-day — nervous, lively, in fine physical condi- 
tion, and improved in his conduct, as I have never 
seen him strike a bird since. 

This change of temper I have often observed in 
birds. In the case of this hybrid it was very strik- 
ing, for, in the days of his youth, he would violently 
beat an inoffensive bird, and when he grew older I 
have seen him put up with every insult from another 
canary who coveted his mate, and who persecuted 
him from morning till night. Possibly birds, like 
human beings, gain wisdom with age. He and his 
mate build nest after nest that I never interfere 
with, for the eggs of hybrids are said never to 
hatch. 

I have referred to the weak strain in the canary 
Minnie's constitution and, strange to say, several of 
her nestlings succumbed before I lost her. I was in 
a measure prepared for her death, but when I at last 
found her little dead body I mourned sincerely and 
a long time, for a stouter-hearted, braver spirit never 
existed in a fragile body. She always reminded me 
of a little, plain-featured, delicate woman in a house- 
hold, who with iron will sways every one to her 
wishes. 

My nervous Norwich sang at the top of his voice 
on the day that he was made a widower. At the 
time I thought him heartless. Now I think he was 
probably mourning in his excitable way. It is as 
easy to misjudge birds as human beings. 

N 193 



My Pets 

A recent writer says that the Japanese often 
giggle when a funeral procession passes by. In 
reality, they are as sympathetic as we are, but they 
have a different mode of expressing themselves. 

After Minnie died, Norwich devoted himself 
principally to a canary called Pussy's Baby — her 
mother having been a good-sized yellow bird, with 
the reputation of a murderess of other canaries. 
Pussy's Baby never had the influence over Norwich 
that Minnie had, and he became fussy and meddle- 
some. He interfered with other birds in their nest- 
making, and often received rebukes and hard blows. 
One evening I noticed that he was particularly ex- 
cited about a new canary that I had put on the roof- 
veranda. The hybrid led her to his corner, and 
Norwich followed. The hybrid showed signs of 
terrible impatience, but as I have stated before, he 
was a reformed bird, and I did not think he would 
strike Norwich unless he was cunning enough to 
wait till I had left them for the night. However, 
I was shocked to find Norwich's dead body on the 
floor the next morning, close by the hybrid's perch. 
He was far from his own nest. Pussy's Baby was 
sitting on a nestful of eggs in Sukey's room. Nor- 
wich should have spent the night near her. He 
had either fallen dead in one of his fits of frantic 
singing and dancing, or the hybrid had struck him 
a fatal blow. 

We should not criticize Norwich too harshly. 
His death was a real grief to the family, and my 

194 




American Goldfinch 
Page 195 



Canary Characteristics 

mother mourned for him as she has mourned for no 
other bird. He knew her, and when she spoke to 
him he always put his handsome head on one side, 
peeped from under his crest, and answered her with 
an intelligence she could not mistake. 

Alas! the dead are soon forgotten (among 
canaries). Norwich's funeral was held at ten 
o'clock, and by noon a goldfinch had slipped inta his 
place, and was sitting by Pussy's Baby, devotedly 
putting choice morsels of food down her pretty, 
yellow throat. 

I was very fond of my goldfinches. They were 
such neat, dapper, soldierlike little birds, and so 
good-tempered as they flew about the aviary with 
their sweet notes. I never saw one of my real gold- 
finches strike or hurt another bird. This particular 
one became a good mate to Pussy's Baby, and helped 
her bring up Norwich's family. 

I am exceedingly interested in studying the 
descendants of Norwich and Minnie, in tracing in 
the children the characteristics of the parents. It 
is easy to study canary families, for the young birds 
hatched this year will next year bring up families 
of their own, and one has a number of canaries 
spread out before him. 

My Germans have crossed with the English 
breed, and now I have the mixed families with 
complications and ramifications. With birds it is 
as with human families — as the parents are, so will 
the children be. 

195 



My Pets 

Some time ago a lady brought me a little paper 
parcel. 

" This is a dead bird," she said, " but it is so 
beautiful I want you to look at it." 

I did look, and there lay an exquisite little crea- 
ture with Norwich's heavy crest and lovely, silky 
feathers, but with Minnie's frail and delicate body. 

" You gave it to me when it was a young one," 
the lady continued, " and the other day I found it 
dead. I wonder what was the matter with it ? " 

I had lost sight of the bird, and did not know 
what care she had given it, but my conclusion was 
that the weak maternal strain had been the cause of 
its sudden death. 

However, good stock will not survive everything. 
The most astonishing ignorance prevails with regard 
to the care of birds. I have had a woman ask me 
seriously whether it was wrong to change a bird's 
drinking-water every day. 

I wanted to say, *' Woman, where is your common 
sense ? " However, I restrained myself, and she 
went on to say, " A friend of mine had a little bird 
in a cage and she changed its drinking-water every 
day and it died, and another friend who had a bird 
changed the water only once in three days and the 
bird lived." 

Here was a perplexing case. 

However, I laid down some broad and generous 
rules : ** Give a bird fresh food and water every 
day. If he is caged, don't let him stuff himself, but 

196 



Canary Characteristics 

if the cage is a good size, as it should be, he can 
stand quite an amount of food and green stuff, and 
a daily bath. 

" Better than keeping birds in a cage, is to have 
one end of a room wired off for them. They are far 
happier and are less likely to have vermin, and they 
can eat more. My birds eat an immense amount of 
green food, and I have never had a case of typhoid 
fever among them. They have fruit all the year 
round, and in winter I plant bird-seed for them and 
give them the green sprouts. They are very fond 
of the common buckwheat, sown thickly in pots and 
set in the aviary. They eat down the green shoots 
in a short time, then I overturn the pots and let 
them have the mud with the worms and roots in it 
to play with. This is a great opportunity for my 
old Bob to get nesting material. 

" Always buy the best of seeds for your birds. 
Don't get seeds in packages. They may be fresh, 
and again they may be stale. ,Go to a bird-fancier 
or a wholesale dealer in seeds. I once gave my 
birds some sunflower seeds that they would not eat. 
I thought they had taken a dislike to them, until one 
day I picked up a few seeds and cracked them. 
There was nothing inside. I had to open the seeds 
to find out. The birds knew without opening them. 

" Don't hang birds in bright sunshine, except 
for a short time. Do you like to sit in the burning 
sun? Treat your birds as you treat your children. 
Give them light, some liberty, and amuse them. 

197 



My Pets 

Birds like variety as much as we do. I try to give 
mine something to interest them. 

** Be sure to see that a new bird knows where to 
find his food. I had an exquisite httle goldfinch 
starve to death in the midst of plenty because I had 
not penetration enough to discover that he was too 
stupid to find out where his food dishes were." 

I once had a bird come to me suffering from 
the effect of loneliness. His owner had gone to the 
country, and the neglected bird had sung all day in 
a lonely house. He had been used to the sound of 
children's voices and the care of his mistress. When 
they left him he was alone except for the space of 
time required to put fresh seeds and water in his 
cage. He moped, and was brought to me in a dying 
condition. So nervous was he from the long hours 
alone that he started if I went near him. Nothing 
consoled him, and he soon died. 

A canary is a high-strung, nervous, intensely 
affectionate and faithful bird, and it is pathetic and 
horrible to reflect how many are tortured to death by 
the kindest-hearted but most ignorant persons. Bird- 
dealers give a few directions about the care of birds 
to persons who buy, but these directions should be 
in printed form, and should go with the bird. 

I can assure purchasers that they suffer loss by 
not having intelligent instruction. They buy a 
canary and he dies. They buy another and he dies. 
I don't suppose many persons get a good singer for 
less than five dollars. Twenty-five cents will procure 

198 



Canary Characteristics 

a book of instructions. If birds must be kept in 
cages these books should be consulted, but better 
than a cage is partial liberty for a canary. 

Do you not often see a canary in a cage stretching 
his wings? What is that for? God gave him his 
wings for use. If the bird had been intended to hop 
through life he would have been differently con- 
structed. I never put a bird in a cage so small that 
he cannot use these wings, and I always allow a 
caged bird the occasional privilege of flying about 
the room. At present I have no birds in cages. All 
are free. In the basement aviary they have fifteen 
feet by thirty-two of space. From it they enter the 
elevator that is twenty feet high and ascend to the 
roof-veranda and sunroom, where are fifteen feet 
by thirty-two. 

Less space than this would do, but I have it, and 
give it to my birds that now only number forty-five, 
for I have allowed a number their liberty. Better 
than cages, better than aviaries is the broad blue 
sky, and the boundless fields; but of course, one 
cannot release delicate foreigners in our Northern 
climate. 



199 




CHAPTER XXI 



LITTLE PETERS 



SOON after starting my aviary I bought a pair 
of large green parrakeets, and consequently 
became interested in the whole parrot tribe, I 
found that there are two hundred yarieties or more 
of the little tropical beauties called parrakeets or 
little Peters. 

This first pair of mine I think, consisted of speci- 
mens of the all-green parrakeet or the tirika — a 
species inhabiting eastern Brazil. In that country 
these pretty green birds associate in countless flocks, 
disporting themselves in the forest or swooping 
down on maize and rice fields. 

The lady In Halifax from whom I bought these, 
said that she found it impossible to keep them in a 
cage. They would break out and invariably amuse 
themselves by gnawing the plaster from the walls 

200 



Little Peters 

of the room they were in. At first they did not like 
me. Parrots, we all know, are narrow in their 
affections, and rarely like more than one person at a 
time. They threw me suspicious glances and abso- 
lutely refused to be separated from each other. If 
one flew across the aviary the other uttered a pier- 
cing scream, then flew after him. 

I took great interest in watching them. They 
seemed to have quite an amount of individuality, 
and to be very unlike other birds, both in appear- 
ance and in habits. Their hooked beaks, curious 
claws, awkward gait, their gorgeous plumage, and 
their queer ways, set them in a class by themselves. 
They never mingled with birds outside their family. 
They were my exclusive set. 

Parrakeets are not recommended for aviaries on 
account of their wicked beaks that can so easily break 
the legs of small birds. This first pair did not 
trouble me by meddling with other birds, nor did 
subsequent pairs that I obtained. They always 
ignored the other inhabitants of the aviary. My 
parrakeets and doves were all very much wrapped 
up in themselves, and rarely meddled with their 
companions, unless they transgressed bird etiquette 
by pressing close to them. 

Most unfortunately, one of these tirikas was found 
dead a few months after I obtained them. There 
was a mystery surrounding his death, and I think 
it must have been the result of an accident. I was 
so sorry for the lonely survivor, that I took him up 

201 



My Pets 

to my own room, where he soon became so tame 
and so lazy that he would not feed himself, but called 
to me to put favorite morsels in his beak. Rowdy 
I called this one, and after I had him a little longer 
I bought a pair of the best known of all the little 
peters — undulated grass, or shell parrakeets. These 
Australians were beautiful grass-green and yellow 
birds, about as large as canaries, but with very long 
tails. They are often called love-birds, but they are 
not true love-birds. Genuine love-birds are natives 
of Africa, and have short tails. 

The Australians naturally first came from Aus- 
tralia where immense flocks of them used to be 
captured while feeding on the seeds of tall grasses. 
From Australia to Europe was a long journey for 
them, and after a time bird-keepers found that they 
could easily raise these pretty creatures in aviaries. 
In a wild state they make nests in the holes of old 
trees, or in almost any cavity. In aviaries, if the 
husk of a cocoanut is given to them, or a hollow bit 
of wood, they will lay from four to seven white 
eggs, and soon hatch young ones. 

They are lovable and affectionate, and while the 
female is on the nest her mate sits on a twig near-by 
and sings his best song, or rather he warbles to her, 
for they do not sing as other birds do, but make a 
chuckling, amusing little noise that sounds like 
talking. 

I heard of this devotion of shell parrakeets, but 
my pair did not act in this way. They kept together 

202 



Little Peters 

a part of the time, but I felt convinced that if sepa- 
rated they would not die of grief. I soon made up 
my mind that they were two male birds, and this de- 
cision was confirmed by their actions when I one 
day had brought to me a pair of Madagascar love- 
birds. Now I saw my Australians in their true 
character. Their names were Big Eyes and Little 
Eyes, and as soon as Little Eyes saw Mrs. Mada- 
gascar he flew excitedly to meet her, followed her 
from tree to tree, and warbled and gabbled until he 
brought on a most ludicrous situation of affairs. 

All summer we were treated to exhibitions of 
infatuation, impatience, jealousy, and resentment. 
Little Eyes was, of course, the infatuated one, Mrs. 
Madagascar was impatience personified, her mate 
was jealousy, and the neglected Big Eyes was resent- 
ment itself. 

The little green Madagascars would sit pressed 
close to each other, parrakeet fashion, and Little 
Eyes taking care to get always on the right side 
would slip up close to Mrs. Madagascar and warble 
soft invitations in her ear to leave her mate and 
come and play with him. 

At first she would pretend not to hear, then she 
would get impatient and would gurgle an impatient 
aside to her mate, " What a rude bird — what does 
he want ? " 

At this Mr. Madagascar would wake up, lean 
over, and give Little Eyes a dab. 

He did not care; sliding off for a minute he 

203 



My Pets 

always returned. I often pointed out the comical 
sight to visitors to my aviary — the two Madagascars 
sitting, trying to sleep away the lovely warm days, 
Little Eyes in close attendance, whispering and 
warbling in the tiny green ear next him, and Big 
Eyes always in the background, grumbling angrily 
to himself that no one wanted him. 

After I had had the Madagascars for some time 
they became troubled with overgrown beaks, and 
one morning I caught them and trimmed the beaks 
with a penknife. The Australians were nearly 
frantic to see that I had deprived them of their play- 
mates, and flew about the veranda, chattering and 
screaming excitedly. 

When I showed them the cage containing the 
Madagascars, they flew right up to it, and Little 
Eyes, whose love for Mrs. Madagascar had been 
made fonder by absence, shrieked something that 
sounded like, ''Where have you been? speak! 
speak ! " 

The Madagascars, who had been apathetic and 
frightened while having their beaks trimmed, roused 
themselves at this warm greeting from their play- 
mate, and one of them squeezed through the bars of 
the cage. I let the other out, and then there was a 
jubilation — calls and screams of delight, and a wild 
dashing to and fro. 

Poor Mr. Madagascar soon died. The autumn 
came, and I think I let them stay out too late, and 
I also think that the overgrown beak had been left 

204 



Little Peters 

too long. He had not been able to crack a sufficient 
supply of seeds. I had always a hard time to get 
my birds indoors in the autumn. They wanted to 
stay outside, and I have seen a canary sitting on 
eggs with snowflakes flying around her. 

Now that the male Madagascar was gone, Little 
Eyes' opportunity had come; he kept close to the 
bewildered widow, warbling, " I am here," I am here 
— speak quick, speak quick ! " 

She did speak quick, and the little fellow never 
deserted her, and was inconsolable when she left 
him. 

Her departure was taken in a most peculiar and 
tragic way. I had her with Little Eyes and Big 
Eyes on my farm. I noticed one day that Mrs. 
Madagascar was gnawing a hole in the plaster, and 
some one in the family suggested that possibly it 
would be as well not to allow her to destroy the 
wall. 

" She wants to make a nest," I said. " She will 
only pierce a small hole." 

I knew she did not need the plaster, for I was 
always careful to have lime, crushed shells, grit, 
and sea-sand for my birds. 

After a good-sized hole had been made, Mrs. Mad- 
agascar only appeared at intervals. I was most 
pleased at the thought of raising young parrakeets, 
but one day when confined to my room, I was made 
slightly uneasy by hearing a scratching in the wall 
of the bird-room under me. 

205 



My Pets 

A few days later I made an investigation, and 
Mrs. Madagascar was missing — I never saw her 
again. A Japanese robin was also missing. He was 
a nervous, fussy fellow, not allowed to associate 
with the other robins from his country. He had 
probably seen the hole in the wall, had gone in and 
investigated, and had lost his way and perished. His 
would be the noise I heard. Mrs. Madagascar was 
a quiet bird. She must have died some time before ; 
she had probably lost her way while fussing about 
her nest, taken a wrong turn, and had gotten be- 
wildered in the partition. 

I felt terribly. There was no sound in the wall 
now, and it was too late to do anything but reluc- 
tantly to fasten up the hole so that no other bird 
could get in. If we had torn down the plaster we 
might not have found the little bird bodies, for in their 
bewilderment they might have groped bhndly far 
from the small entrance. If I had only had some of 
the family make an examination of the wall when I 
first heard the noise — if I had only been a little more 
uneasy. It seemed a horrible way for my pretty 
birds to die. At last I stopped worrying. It would 
do no good. The birds were gone. But I must be 
more careful in the future. Little Eyes did not live 
long after the disappearance of the bird he loved 
so well, and Big Eyes soon followed him to the bird 
world, where I hope little birds and big birds have 
none of the worries and sufferings they experience 
here. 

206 



Little Peters 

1 was more fortunate with my next parrakeets 
that are well and happy at this present time. The 
first one arrived one cold November afternoon. A 
lad brought him to me in a box, and said a young 
man in the north end of the city had sent it to me. 
Would I please cure it? It was very sick. I 
opened a box and found a brilliant green African 
love-bird with a bright red face. Its body was cold, 
its head and neck were flabby, its claws were curled 
tightly, its heart was beating very feebly, and it 
was evidently dying. 

I seated myself by the fire, and called for my 
sister, who was almost as much interested in my 
birds as I was. In a trice she had a cup of hot 
water at my elbow, and I dropped a little in the 
bird's beak. Then she got a hot water bag and I 
laid the bird on it, face downward, keeping its back 
to the fire, then I uncurled the little claws that were 
clenched, for they kept the body from the contact 
of the bag. At this, the bird showed his first signs 
of animation, and opening his eyes he feebly tried to 
bite me. Very much pleased at this sign of life I 
gave him some warm sweet oil, and after a time 
a few drops of milk. 

His heart action had improved, and soon he 
straightened himself out and perched on my finger. 
I then took him up to Sukey's room, thinking that 
the voices of the few birds I had there might rouse 
him. They did, and leaving my hand he climbed on 
a tree, but instead of seeking food he put his head 

207 



My Pets 

under his wing. I knew this would not do, so I 
brought him down by the fire again, and offered 
him a dish of seeds — flax, domestic and French 
millet, canary, and hemp. 

He tried to eat but he was too weak. The seeds 
fell out of his beak. I offered him apple, and he 
tried to scrape off some of that, but could not. I 
masticated some, and he began weakly to nibble at it. 
When he finished, I again put the seeds before him. 
He chose the millet; I suppose he liked the soft 
shell and oily taste. He ate slowly but steadily, but 
he was still so weak that he would only open his 
eyes to pick up a seed, and would close them as he 
ate it. 

I still sat by the fire, as he liked the heat, and held 
him on my finger. To my delight he so far im- 
proved that he at last seized a good-sized piece of 
apple and ate it. I put him in a cage at last, as I 
got quite stiff from sitting so long in one position, 
and the love-bird was far enough on the road to re- 
covery to be able to climb unsteadily to a perch, 
where he sat meditatively, and at last opened his 
eyes and began to make his toilet for the night. 

A bird that is too weak to clean his beak is a 
pretty sick bird. Red-face now began to pay a 
little attention to his dirty one, and stroked it gently 
against the bars of the cage to clean it. Then he 
began to play with his feathers and cunning little 
claws. 

" He will live," I said triumphantly, and I watched 

208 



Little Peters 

him as he ate at intervals till ten o'clock in the 
evening. Then I put his cage on the hot water 
pipes in my study. I had some canaries in there, 
and seeing them, he spread his wings and started 
warbling. He looked such an exquisite little crea- 
ture that, as soon as he was tucked away for the 
night, I went to my natural history to find out some- 
thing more about him. This red-headed love-bird 
seems to be the best known of the parrakeet tribe 
after the Australian or grass parrakeets, such as Big 
Eyes and Little Eyes. I learned that they, when ex- 
cited, spread out their short green tails, tipped by 
spots of orange and black. Subsequently I saw my 
own birds doing this — opening and shutting their 
short tails just like brilliant fans. 

They are only six inches long and inhabit forests 
in the central parts of Africa. There they fly in 
large flocks, and often sit closely together in long 
rows, where their gorgeous little green bodies and 
red faces must produce a very striking appearance. 
They are said to be the most hardy of the parrakeet 
family and will stand a good degree of cold weather. 
They are no bathers, but they take great pride in 
arranging their feathers, and in pluming and in 
stroking one another. 

Later on, I noticed that this parrakeet did occa- 
sionally step into the water and make a pretense of 
bathing, but what he liked better was to stand near 
some bird that was taking a vigorous bath and catch 
the drops as they flew out of the basin. In such 
o 209 



My Pets 

cases he would get quite excited and would dip 
backward and forward as if he too were really in 
the water. 

I was very much afraid that my little Red-face 
would die, and the next morning hurried down- 
stairs so early that I had to strike a match to see 
whether he was dead or alive. When he heard me 
he took his rosy head from under his wing and fell 
to eating. He got on so well during the day that 
toward night I took him up to Sukey's room so that 
he might have the little birds there to cheer him up. 

At the sight of these little birds and Sukey he be- 
came so excited that I had to bring him back to the 
few canaries and the quiet of my study. A sick 
bird is like a sick person — quiet and warmth are 
necessary for a perfect recovery. 

As the days went by he kept on improving, and I 
learned his history. Some of the Canadian soldiers 
who went to South Africa to take part in the war 
against the Boers had brought back this little cap- 
tive, and had given him to the young man who sent 
him to me. Who owned him in Africa or how old 
he was, I could not find out. His owner said that he 
was inclined to be a delicate bird, and as he had not 
time to fuss with him I might keep him if I wished. 
I was most pleased to have him, and found him a 
great ornament in my aviary. Contrary to the 
popular opinion that one love-bird will not live 
alone, Red-face kept in the best of health and 
spirits, and as there were now no other parrakeets 

2IO 



Little Peters 

in my aviary, he chose a red-headed Brazil cardinal 
for a friend. The cardinal hated him, and beat 
him if he went too near, so Red-face calmly gave 
him up and spent his days flying about the aviary 
and warbling happily to himself. 

I was so sorry for what I considered his state of 
loneliness that one day, seeing a rosy-faced love-bird 
in town, I bought him and brought him home. 
In order that the two might become acquainted I 
put them in a cage. They got on pretty well to- 
gether, but when I took them out Red-face beat the 
stranger. 

In order to illustrate the vagaries of birds, I may 
say that the Brazil cardinal that hated Red-face and 
drove him away, allowed the stranger that looked 
exactly like him to sit near his nest. There is noth- 
ing but human nature that at all resembles the 
doubled and twisted workings of bird nature. 

Red-face and the stranger were separated this 
autumn. When I left home I thought that my pretty 
Africans would be better off in a large American 
aviary under the care of a skilled curator, so I at- 
tempted to catch them both. The stranger hid and 
is still at home. I only got Red-face. He is in 
New York State, and his fate Is unsettled, for in the 
aviary to which I sent him, the gray-headed love- 
birds object so to his presence that it was feared he 
would be killed. So he is still seeking a home, and 
it is possible that he may once more find himself 
back in Canada with his former bird companions. 

211 




CHAPTER XXII 

CRESTED CARDINALS 

I SHALL never forget the day that I bought my 
first cardinals. 

I stood in a Boston bird-dealer's shop, looking 
about me at the great variety of birds. I knew but 
few of them by name, but I loved them all and 
wanted them all. 

I was most anxious to have a talking minor — the 
glossy, dark bird that is the only one that will reply 
when spoken to. 

On learning that he was twenty dollars, I said that 
I could not afford to get him. 

A showy redbird that looked too big for his 

212 




Red Cardinal 



Brazilian Cardinal 



Page 212 



Crested Cardinals 

cage next impressed me. He had a black forehead 
and chin, a jaunty crest, and a vigorous air, and his 
every movement proclaimed the cruelty of im- 
prisoning so active a bird. 

" What is his name ? " I asked. 

" Virginia Nightingale." 

James Lane Allen's charming story about this red 
cardinal came to my mind, and I said I would take 
him. I think I paid four dollars and a half for 
him. 

An equally attractive bird was one that sat more 
quietly in his cage — a beautiful gray bird with a red 
crest and a red bib. I found that he was a cardinal 
from Brazil, and I said I would take him to be a 
companion for the other. Alas ! I am no seer, and 
did not anticipate that my two princely birds with 
their red heads would become mortal enemies. 

In addition to the Brazil, whose price was about 
the same as that of the all-red cardinal, I bought a 
pair of Java sparrows. They were so neat and 
handsome with their little gray bodies and their 
conical beaks, and white ear-tufts, making them 
look like tiny old men with big pink noses, that I 
could not resist them. 

However, I did not like their ruffled plumage and 
the bare places on their heads. All Java sparrows, 
when in condition, should be as smooth as marble. 

The dealer assured me that they had only been 
pecking each other. I believed him then. I would 
not now. I never saw Java sparrows pull out each 

213 



My Pets 

other's feathers, and a bare head to me at this time 
means disease or vermin. 

However, I got the httle birds and was pleased to 
learn something about them. They seem to be a 
kind of English sparrow in their native country, 
and do an immense amount of damage to the rice 
crops, eluding the natives who try to capture them. 
They have a very happy, " chuckle, chuckle," note, 
as they fly about an aviary. I have never heard them 
warble, but they are said to do so. 

To return to the cardinals. I took them with 
the Javas in the train with me to Canada, and 
suffered many pricks of conscience in so doing. I 
know how hateful and terrifying railway travel is to 
birds. Had I done right to subject them to it? 
Well, if I had not bought them in order to give them 
freedom in a large place, some one would probably 
have got them and forced them to spend the rest of 
their lives in tiny cages. 

The cardinals were apparently none the worse for 
their day and a half in the train. When I opened 
their traveling-cages, they sprang out, ran over the 
earth in the aviary, then spread their handsome 
wings and flew to tree branches. 

I think they were a little surprised at finding 
they had room enough to spread their wings. I did 
not know how long they had been caged. One of 
my most exquisite pleasures is to release a bird cap- 
tive, either in my aviary or in the open, then to watch 
him and imagine what his feelings are. 

214 



Crested Cardinals 

I probably project a little too much of my own 
personality into bird bodies, but by dint of drink- 
ing and eating, sleeping, playing, and passing day 
after day with bird companions, I feel myself 
enabled to interpret some of their bodily and facial 
expressions, and I can surely and safely say that the 
uncaged bird is a happy bird. My Javas did not 
stand the journey so well as the cardinals. One of 
them was weak and ill, and instead of putting it in 
a warm, quiet place with its food and water close at 
hand, I dosed it with a few drops of brandy and 
water and killed it. 

This was a blow to me, and out of that failure 
and many others arose an intense sympathy for the 
medical profession. Later on, I naturally became 
more experienced in treating sick birds, but often 
the question arose: Here are two remedies. One 
may mean life, the other death. Which shall I 
adopt ? 

At present I practise the Chinese method — I 
doctor the patient before he gets ill. In China physi- 
cians are said to be paid to keep their patients in 
health, and when sickness comes fees are withheld. 

All my energies are bent toward keeping my 
birds in good health, and at intervals they are caught 
and examined. I practise with birds the same 
method that I advocate in the treatment of children 
— save the child before he is lost. That is the only 
way to have healthy stock of any kind. 

Adults who are hard-hearted never bring me a 

215 



My Pets 

bird. Little, tender-souled children constantly bring 
bird patients to my hospital. " These children must 
rob nests," a skeptical neighbor once remarked, as 
she observed children coming toward my house with 
birds. 

*' They do not," I said decidedly. " I assure you 
that children often bring me birds at great incon- 
venience to themselves. They are on their way to 
the park or the harbor. They discover a robin or a 
sparrow, a finch or a yellowbird fallen from a 
tree. They turn back and bring it to me. One little 
lad going to school the other day, found a sparrow 
and came to me with it. He was in a great hurry, 
but he thought it his duty to look after the bird. 

" If children are trained to be kind to birds when 
they are young, they will make laws for their protec- 
tion when they are grown up, and will save the 
committal of a vast amount of cruelty and also 
enormous financial loss to the country by the de- 
struction of insect-eating birds." 

I hope I convinced my neighbor. If she was open 
to argument, I did. If she was closed to it, I did 
not. Some dear, good people adopt the Scotchman's 
knock-down policy : " When you see a boy, give him 
a crack. If he hasn't just been committing some 
mischief, he is about to do it." 

All my boy neighbors were kind to my birds, and 
last year they did a very thoughtful thing for them. 

They knew that I was in the habit of renewing 
the trees in my aviary every few months by burning 

216 



Crested Cardinals 

old ones and getting some of the colored people 
about Halifax to bring in fresh ones from the 
country. 

Last New Year's the boys asked me if I did not 
want their Christmas trees. I said I would be de- 
lighted to have them, and one Saturday morning 
the boys and girls had a regular jubilee running 
round the snow-covered streets dragging the dis- 
carded trees after them, and shouting to other boys 
to call at the neighbors' and see if they had not some 
to give away. 

Some trees were put in the basement, others were 
dragged gaily through the halls and up the staircase 
through Sukey's room to the roof-veranda. The 
birds sat in corners whispering and talking softly, 
for they knew the boys quite well and understood 
that the changing of the trees meant great amuse- 
ment and occupation for them. 

After the children left I walked about the aviary 
and glanced gratefully at the sweet-smelling ever- 
greens. The birds were busy with exploring expedi- 
tions, for each tree had sticking to it bits of tinsel, 
twine, or wax. What a story each one might tell if 
it could speak, of happy children dancing round its 
gift-laden branches. 

When I brought home my showy cardinal birds 
all my boy neighbors liked them. They were both 
fine singers, though the bird-books give the most of 
the praise to the Virginian. He had a powerful, and 
not always sweet song, and sometimes it came in 

217 



My Pets 

long bursts, when it seemed as if the violence of his 
execution would rend his lovely red body apart. 

He always wound up with a " Chew, chew, chew ! " 
rendered as vigorously as if he had teeth. I knew 
he was lonely, for he absolutely and contemptuously 
refused to associate with his far-away cousin, the 
Brazilian, and there was no other bird suitable for 
him in the aviary. So I sent to Boston for a mate 
for him, and also for one for the Brazilian. I 
called the Virginian, Ruby, and the Brazilian, Red- 
top. I regretted the latter name. I should have 
chosen one to better express the smart, elegant ap- 
pearance, the pretty manners, and shy, aristocratic 
ways of this attractive foreigner. 

I loved Ruby, but I adored Red-top, and I liked 
his song better. There was not so much of it, and 
it was not so loud, but he sang nearly all the time. 
I called him a conversational singer, for as he walked 
or ran over the earth— he rarely hopped — he kept his 
pretty head moving from side to side, and talked 
or sang constantly to himself. *' Dee, dee, dee ! " he 
would say, as he picked up a piece of sand. " Dee, 
dee, dee ! " he would go on, as his runs brought him 
within reach of an orange or a grape, then he would 
stop an instant to extract some juice with his strong 
conical beak. 

He had a pair of very smooth dark legs and 
claws, and always reminded me of a famous French 
singer who wears long black gloves with her 
evening gowns. Red-top's elegance was really Pa- 

218 



Crested Cardinals 

risian, and we all know Brazilians are fond of Paris ; 
then he had a quick, sharp way of saying something 
that sounded like the French voyonsl" 

I never became tired of watching this pretty 
bird, and would praise him unstintedly to his face, 
for it never seemed to spoil him. The bold Ruby, 
on the contrary, if too much petted, would attack 
some smaller bird, and " show off " as spoiled chil- 
dren do. 

I studied Red-top and found out his tastes. He 
was a great dandy, and extravagantly fond of a 
mirror. I put a hand-glass in the aviary, and he 
spent half of his time in front of it, talking, singing, 
bowing, tapping it with his beak, and running to and 
fro before it on his trim dark legs. He thought 
there was a bird in the glass, for he often paused in 
his song and listened as if to say, " Why don't you 
respond, bird in the glass ? " 

One day he made a nest before it and slept in it 
every night with his beak touching the glass. I tried 
moving the glass and nest from place to place, and 
he would follow them wherever they went. Think- 
ing to please him, I put a rose-colored lining in 
the nest. It was not so bright as his crest, but it 
drove him far away, and I had to take it out. 

" How pleased he will be to see another Brazil- 
ian," I said to myself, and in a few weeks I had 
the felicity of opening another traveling-cage and 
allowing another Brazilian to step out and con- 
front my elegant Red-top. At first they looked 

219 



My Pets 

exactly alike to me, except that the new bird's 
plumage was rumpled in appearance, causing me to 
name her Touzle. 

I soon found that Touzle was gentle and timid in 
disposition, her eyes were smaller, or rather she kept 
her eyelids closer together than Red-top did, and 
that altogether she was one of the best and sweetest 
birds in my aviary — and how did Red-top treat her ? 

Alas! The bird world, like the human world, is 
full of surprises. Instead of flying to her with joy 
and greeting her as a beloved friend and companion 
from the far-off Brazilian country. Red-top began to 
beat her constantly, rudely, and systematically. 

" Why, Red-top ; I am ashamed of you," I said 
in amazement. " What do you mean by beating 
that beautiful, gentle bird ? " 

He bowed his red crest, sang impatiently some- 
thing that sounded like, " I can't help it ; I can't help 
it ! " and went back to the glass. 

I had an illumination. He had mated with the 
bird in the glass. I took it from him, and soon he 
stopped beating Touzle — though for a time I had to 
separate them — and little by little began making 
advances to her until at last they became such good 
friends that they never left each other even for 
one minute. 

If Ruby chased them and drove one to the other 
end of the aviary there would be anxious calls and 
whistles, and they would hasten to rejoin each other. 
I was very much interested in their way of greeting 

220 



Crested Cardinals 

each other, even after a few minutes' separation. 
They would bow profoundly, expand the tail like a 
fan, and each one would sing a little song. It was 
a very pretty bird ceremony. I have seen reunited 
birds salute each other by a cry of delight, a rub on 
the head with the bill, a sharp tap of affection, such 
as some parrakeets give, but I never saw any other 
of my birds bow and curtsy as the Brazil car- 
dinals do. 

The first year I had Touzle they made no 
nest. The summer before she came. Red- 
top had made a fine nest in a fir tree, weaving 
long grasses in and out, and shaping it perfectly. 
The second year they made one or two nests, but 
laid no eggs. While on the farm they made several 
nests, laid eggs, hatched young ones, and every time 
either Ruby or the mockingbird killed their nest- 
lings. 

Two years ago I had them up on the roof-veranda 
where I could watch them, and they hatched two 
fine, plump young birds. Most unfortunately I 
went too near the nest one day and the young ones 
seeing me sprang out, and though I put them back, 
they would not stay in the nest. They had long legs 
and jumped like frogs, and fearing that they would 
spring out during the early morning and become 
chilled, I took them in the house. 

Of course, after removing them from the parents 
I had to feed them. Raising young birds, especially 
insectivorous ones, is a delicate matter, and after a 

221 



My Pets 

week or two they languished and soon died. The 
Httle creatures knew me, and would cry for food, 
and it seemed to me that I could not give them up. 
They were so intelligent, so pretty, so like their 
parents. 

Their attachment for me did not spring alone 
from their knowledge that I fed them. A young 
mouse taught me a valuable truth with regard to the 
upbringing of the young of any creature. The mouse 
was found wandering over the floor of my study, 
too young and too foolish to escape. My sister 
picked him up and we gave him food, drink, and 
shelter, yet he did not prosper. 

" He is lonely," I said at last, " he wants petting," 
and I put him up my sleeve. 

Now he was happy. He crouched close to my 
arm, only sticking his little nose out to get kind 
words and morsels of food I tucked up after him. 

A young bird is like a young animal, I concluded. 
They all want petting and mothering when taken 
from their parents. Later on, I tried this plan with 
the greatest success. After feeding young birds 
I would talk to them, tuck them in their nests, and I 
soon saw by their playful ways with me that affec- 
tionate attention was as necessary as the feeding. 

This last summer the Brazilian cardinals built an- 
other nest on the roof-veranda. I had a thick, leafy 
screen in front of it, and did not go near it. Weeks 
went by, and one fine June day I heard the well- 
known Brazilian baby-cry in the nest. 

222 



Crested Cardinals 

I would scarcely allow my family to look at the 
tree. The birds did not mind the noise of the 
children in the near-by gardens, the street cars, and 
guns, whistles, and military music of our garrison 
and maritime town, but they did not want us to go 
near them. Our self-denial was soon rewarded, 
and one day I had the long-waited-for pleasure of 
seeing a fully fledged young Brazilian step from his 
nest. 

He was a little beauty, gray and white, and with a 
golden brown, not scarlet crest. I looked forward 
with interest to his baby moult and acquisition of the 
cardinal's red hat. His hoarse cries for food were 
very amusing, and both parents fed him devotedly 
for some time after he left the nest. He was inclined 
to be shy, but after a time came out from the shelter 
of the trees, advanced toward the tempting food- 
dishes, explored the bathtubs, and had a good dip, 
flew all about the roof-veranda, and altogether was 
a very happy little bird until one unfortunate day 
when I took it into my head to examine one of his 
claws. It was twisted, and I thought possibly I 
might do something to straighten it. I caught him, 
examined it, found I could do nothing to help him, 
and then placed him on the veranda. 

To my dismay, almost to my horror, he could 
barely move. He hobbled to a corner. He could 
neither walk nor fly, and crouching in one spot 
seemed as if he would die. I soon discovered that 
though I might possibly have hurt his claw in try- 

223 



My Pets 

ing to straighten it, the real injury was in the shock 
to his nerves. I put food and water within his 
reach and let him alone. Every night I watched 
him to see that he got under shelter, and in a few 
weeks he managed to hitch himself up to the higher 
branches of the trees. 

I had waited for four years for a young Brazilian 
bird, and this was the result. To add to my distress, 
Touzle, who had built another nest — she started 
by building an addition to the old one, but fearing 
vermin I tore it to pieces and she made another — 
this gentle, amiable Touzle had just before the baby's 
sad experience with me, begun to show herself in an 
altogether different light. From being motherly and 
amiable she became unmotherly and hateful, until I 
sometimes wanted to shake her. 

When the poor cardinal baby, so sorely in need of 
consolation would, with a nervous and distrustful 
eye on me, drag himself toward his lovely-looking 
mother as she sat on her nest in her shady nook, 
Touzle would daintily step off. 

With a look at Red-top she would bow her head, 
spread her tail and begin to talk to him. Over and 
over again, whenever the baby came near them, she 
did the same thing. She urged Red-top on to beat 
the young one, and drive him away from the nest. 

I never saw her look so handsome and so at- 
tractive as when she would exhort her mate, and 
then with him, approach their nestling and drive 
him out from the shady corner where the nest was. 

224 



Crested Cardinals 

I suppose this poor afflicted baby did not suffer 
as much as I thought he did. I hope he did not. I 
could not help imagining him in the depths of bird 
despair because his parents had disowned him and 
I had forfeited his confidence. 

Whatever his feelings were, he did what is a very 
sensible thing for any afflicted mortal to do — he ate 
and drank, and fought. It did me good to see him 
lock beaks with his father and stand up to his 
mother. Many a thrashing he would have got if he 
had not squared up to the vicious old parents and 
looked and acted as ugly as they did. He never 
attacked them, he only defended himself, when to 
have turned tail might have meant annihilation. 



225 




CHAPTER XXIII 



CARDINAL BABIES 



BIRD-LOVERS who have long waited for the 
advent of certain young birds will understand 
my interest in this little fellow. I called him or her, 
for I did not know the sex, Natal or Natalie, for 
he was hatched on the twenty-first of June, the natal 
day of Halifax. 

The last thing at night and the first thing in the 
morning I looked out to the trees on the veranda 
to see if he were quite safe and comfortable, and 
I slept with my window wide open so that I could 
hear any disturbance in the night. 

One very bright moonlight night last summer I 
heard my handsome robin Dixie give a loud shriek 

226 



Cardinal Babies 

of dismay, and begin to fly nervously about the 
veranda. I find robins are nervous sleepers. The 
least thing wakens them, and I lay for a few seconds 
listening to him calling and flying to and fro. When 
he began to rouse the other birds I sprang up and 
went softly to the window. I could see nothing, so 
I spoke to the birds, and when they quieted down, 
went back to bed. 

Presently he started again, and this time some 
of the birds, instead of merely flying to and fro, 
began to throw themselves against the wire netting 
of the veranda. 

A panic in an aviary is a serious thing, especially 
if there are several hundreds of birds who lose their 
heads at the same time. In my aviary I always have 
dark corners where birds can fly and hide. I would 
never put birds under a transparent roof with no 
place of retreat. 

However, this night panic was different from a 
fright by day. The birds had been violently 
awakened from sleep, and had completely lost their 
heads. They had not sense enough to keep in the 
protected corners when they got in them. Some- 
thing unforeseen and startling had occurred, and 
again I crept softly to the window. I could see 
nothing out of the way. Of course my mind went to 
the cats, but since I had had the board put around 
the elevator, no cat had ascended it. 

Finally, I noticed a dark mass behind one of the 
trees. It was motionles-s, and I concluded that it 

227 



My Pets 

was one of the bunches of seed-grass I tossed among 
the branches for the birds. However, to make sure, 
I would examine it. I stole across the veranda, and 
there outside the netting, perched on the railing, was 
a large black cat looking me calmly in the eyes. 

I told her what I thought of her and her family 
and she took it gracefully. Then I said " Scat," and 
told her to go down whatever way she had come up. 

She coolly retreated a few paces to a Virginia 
creeper, and swung herself down, as I suppose she 
had come up — namely, paw over paw. 

" The naughty cat has gone, birdies," I said, and 
went back to my room. 

To prove the nervousness of robins, I will only 
have to say that in a few seconds Dixie was scream- 
ing again. This was pure reminiscence. The cat 
had gone, there was nothing there ; but this time he 
acted worse than he had yet done, and he frightened 
one bird into hysterics. I heard this one knocking 
himself against the wire netting like a catapult. 

How could any bird head stand that dreadful 
thumping? I hurried to the spot, and to my dismay 
discovered that the bird gone crazy with terror was 
my baby cardinal. 

I descended upon him, clasped him in my hand — 
though I always prefer to catch a bird in a cloth — 
and absolutely flew to the veranda-room. In there 
it was dark, and he could not see to beat himself 
against the windows. 

His breath was coming in fluttering gasps — of 

228 



Cardinal Babies 

course he thought the cat had him. I put iiim 
quickly on the floor and ran from the room. 

I was afraid he was dying. " If I lose him," I 
said to myself, " how can I forgive that cat ? " 

I scarcely dared look from my window in the 
morning; but there, oh, joyful sight! was my be- 
loved baby bird running to and fro along the win- 
dows of the veranda-room, trying to get out. 

I speedily opened the door, and he flew to his 
parents, who were delighted to see him. 

Strange to say, though they beat him, they would 
scream angrily at me if I approached too near the 
little fellow. They kept up a kind of interest in him, 
though they chastised him. 

All day I watched my bird baby, and it seemed to 
me that nothing for a long time had made me as 
happy as his escape from death by fright. 

I forgave the cat, but the next day I had to call 
back this forgiveness. I was standing in the middle 
of the veranda, when I heard, a sound that always 
strikes dread to my heart. It was a wretched, 
asthmatic breathing that I have never known a bird 
to recover from. 

Which one was the victim ? My eye ran anxiously 
around my small bird world. Not Red-top ; no, he 
would be the last one I could give up. Not Touzle, 
the dear mother bird, not Dixie, best and brightest 
of robins, not his friend the sparrow, not Blue Boy 
the indigo bunting, nor the goldfinch Boy, nor Andy 
and his mate, nor any of the sweet-singing ca- 

229 



My Pets 

naries. Not old man Java, nor the rosy-faced love- 
birds, and not, oh, no ! not my last, but almost best- 
loved bird, the cardinal baby. 

I stepped near to him and he flew away. The hard 
breathing stopped, and it seemed to me for a minute 
that my heart stopped too. I followed him, and the 
wretched, rasping sound was now quite close to me. 
My baby was doomed. I would have to give him up. 
In some brighter, fairer world I might see that 
pretty creature mature and perhaps live forever — 
who knows — for many wise men say that there will 
be a future life for birds, that an all-wise and all- 
merciful Father will never utterly destroy any 
created thing that has in it the spark of life. 

There was only one thing to be thankful for. I 
would have time to get accquainted with the cer- 
tainty of his death — and as far as I could observe, a 
bird's sufferings were not extreme when afflicted in 
this way. The canary Britisher had the same 
trouble, and he seemed to get a great deal of pleasure 
out of life. So day by day I watched my pet, and 
delighted in giving him all the dainties he would eat. 

He lingered on until I left home in the autumn, 
but shortly afterward died. I heard that the dear 
little bird with the reddish-brown crest had been 
picked up dead on the floor of the aviary. 

Poor baby — I cannot think of him without emo- 
tion, but to my joy I have dreamed of seeing him 
well and happy and trotting about among his former 
companions. 

230 



Cardinal Babies 

Some one speaks of birds " making sweet music in 
one's dreams," and I often have the pleasure of 
seeing my pets about me during my sleeping mo- 
ments. 

Next summer I hope my Brazil cardinals will be 
more successful in the raising of young ones. I 
notice that year after year they get tamer and more 
reasonable. 

One morning last August I heard Red-top making 
a great noise about daybreak. His usual habit dur- 
ing summer is to wake at the first streak of day and 
begin singing in a whisper, and gradually to ascend 
into a hearty song. This particular morning he was 
so noisy that I went to the glass door and said, 
" You are making a great racket, my boy. Think 
of the neighbors." 

Before I spoke to him he had been swelling out his 
throat, singing with all his might, " Cheery, deary, 
wearie, dearie," supposedly, to enliven Touzle on her 
woven nest near him. 

After I spoke to him, he put his crested head on 
one side, as if to think over what I had said and 
remarked, " Hi, hi ; that's true ! " then went off to 
play with his mirror, singing in a lower key, and 
tapping it briskly with his beak. 

My birds all follow his example of singing be- 
fore it is really light, then, getting their breakfast 
later on, when they can see well. 

Red-top amused my married sister one day by 
falling into a trap we set for him. I wanted to 

231 



My Pets 

catch him for some reason or other, and put some of 
his favorite dishes into a large cage and tied a 
string to the door. 

He watched me cunningly, and would not go in. 

" Please take the string," I said to my sister ; " I 
believe he will go in for you." 

I left him, and she said after I had gone he 
threw her a careless glance, as if to say, " You 
don't count, you never catch us," and immediately 
walked into the cage, whereupon she laughed at 
him and pulled the string. 

All my cardinals have been very strong birds, 
and never for one instant lose their spirit. When- 
ever I catch one — Virginian or Brazilian — they 
fight me, bite my fingers, and fall into a rage of 
resentment without terror. They know I won't hurt 
them, but they want me to know that they are birds 
of too high lineage to be handled. 

One day Red-top got one leg so tangled in a long 
bit of twine he was weaving into his nest that he 
could not move. I had to call my sister to help me 
cut him free, and he fought us all the time we were 
engaged in our amiable task. 

Another day he got whitewash in his eyes. That 
too made him angry, and I telephoned to our physi- 
cian, who told me to wash his eyes with warm water, 
then put in sweet-oil with a medicine-dropper. The 
next day I bathed them with boracic acid, and in a 
short time he was quite well. 

So great a favorite with me is this charming 

232 



Cardinal Babies 

bird that for his sake I fall into a state of such sad- 
ness when I see his fellows in shop windows that 
I can scarcely describe my feelings, lest I be taxed 
with exaggeration. The suffering I experience is 
perhaps akin to that of the devoted friend or relative 
of a bright and beloved child who sees another child 
resembling him in a wretched and unhappy home. 

For the sake of the first dear child you shudder 
as you witness the sad case of the second. So with 
the Brazil cardinals. I most earnestly hope that the 
time will soon come when the iniquitous traffic in 
foreign birds will be stopped. We are protecting 
our native birds. Why not extend our protection to 
the helpless, lovely, and interesting foreigners? 
They too suffer, and beat their young lives away 
against cruel prison-bars. 

Here in this large and kind-hearted city of Bos- 
ton I saw the other day European goldfinches and 
linnets going up and down their cages, trying the 
wires with their little beaks, pleading vainly for 
freedom. My heart ached as I looked at them. 

I often say to bird-dealers, " How thankful I am 
that you can no longer sell native birds." These men 
do not care. There are plenty of other birds on the 
market. Now, if we can only free the unfortunate 
foreigners, bird-dealers who really love birds will 
find occupation in bird reservations and large avi- 
aries, for I have come to the conclusion that un- 
domesticated birds should be confined only for some 
wise purpose, or for scientific research. 

233 



My Pets 

I have already said that I ordered a mate for my 
red Virginian Ruby as well as for Red-top. When 
she arrived I found that instead of being a rosy-red 
bird like the male, she was of a dull brownish- 
vermilion. However, she was a handsome bird, 
and in fine condition. She darted from her travel- 
ing-cage, and the brilliant Ruby fell into the most 
ludicrous state of amusement, ecstasy, and bewilder- 
ment. He acted like a simpleton, flying to and fro 
after her, twisting his body from side to side, spread- 
ing his tail and wings, elevating and lowering his 
fine crest, singing at the top of his voice, then wind- 
ing up with something earnestly delivered that 
sounded like, " What a dear ! what a dear ! " 

All this was going on at the same time that 
the naughty Red-top was beating poor Touzle. I 
watched both pairs of birds, and Ruby's bodily con- 
tortions were so fantastic that I was overcome with 
laughter. 

He paid no attention to me. He was altogether 
taken up with the vivacious and handsome Vir- 
ginia, who would not allow him to come near her. 
She flew from one end of the aviary to the other, 
switching her tail from side to side, avoiding him 
systematically, and making him sleep away off from 
her when night came. 

This shyness did not last. Soon the two were 
very great friends, and flew about together all day 
long. Ruby's delight in the companionship of one of 
his own kind took the form of feeding her. He 

234 



Cardinal Babies 

kept the choicest morsels he found and put in her 
beak, almost exercising self-denial, for at the time 
of her arrival I did not have a sufficient supply of 
his favorite insect food in the aviary. If there was 
only one worm, Virginia got it. 

I don't know whether she appreciated his devotion 
or not. She was a restless creature, very unlike 
Touzle, who was quiet and reposeful. Virginia 
never kept still for any length of time, unless it was 
the nesting season. Then she sat quietly on her 
nest, day after day, and week after week. 

I had some curious experiences with her, and 
every season it was the same thing. She made a 
nest, laid eggs, sat patiently on them till they hatched 
out, then began to feed the young ones until the day 
that I found them either on the ground, or laid out 
in a row on a window-ledge. 

I got to dread the sound of young Virginians 
chirping in the nest. They were rarely allowed to 
live more than a few days, and it was painful to find 
the plump, dead bodies, well-shaped and looking 
•well-nourished. What killed them? I shut up one 
suspect after another. The gallinules, the mocking- 
bird and Ruby himself. Red-top would not dare to 
go near his enemy's nest. Not until two years ago 
did I discover that Virginia herself lifted them out. 

This was a blow to the mother-love theory, but I 
gave her the credit of thinking that the young ones 
died in the nest, and not being able to endure the 
sight, she took them out. They were rarely muti- 

235 



My Pets 

lated. They had been carefully carried in her pow- 
erful beak. 

One day I was shocked to find three young ones 
about ten days or a fortnight old squirming on the 
window-ledge. This was downright murder. I re- 
vived one, kept him for part of the day, then he died. 
These were fine young birds with feathers starting. 

I puzzled more and more. There was plenty 
of food in the aviary, and Virginia herself was in 
fine condition, for she would make three or four, 
or even five nests a year. This last summer she 
murdered four sets of young ones. I took a fifth 
lot from her, but they died on my hands. I had one 
theory after another to account for this slaughter 
but none of them was satisfactory. Feeling that 
another bird-lover might be more successful with 
her in the nesting season, I sent her this autumn, 
with Ruby, to a skilled curator of birds, and next 
summer I shall await results with interest 

I shall miss her and Ruby immensely for, strange 
to say, the Virginian female possesses a song almost 
equal to that of the male bird. When she was up- 
stairs and Ruby down below, and they sang to each 
other, I often sat in my study listening to them, 
and thinking of Mary McGowan's lines with regard 
to the red cardinal : 

No slumber songster he, with vesper warblings low, 
But bold his every note, and full and strong: 

In his clear ringing pledge, hear him unstop the flow. 
Then gurgle forth the red wine of his song. 

236 



Cardinal Babies 

Virginia never became very tame, but Ruby re- 
minded me of a dog, in his ways. One night I shut 
him in the furnace-room for some reason or other, 
but he fretted to get back to Virginia, and after 
dark I went downstairs with my small candle lan- 
tern, for I had to be careful what sort of a light I 
carried among the dry spruces and firs of the aviary. 
Ruby was pressed against the wire door. He spoke 
to me, and I held the lantern close to him and 
guided his feet back to Virginia. Too impatient to 
wait he hopped on ahead, and I followed quickly, 
trying to keep the swinging light steady. 

He was so reasonable, so sure of me, so grateful 
for what I was doing, that I could scarcely refrain 
from seizing his pretty red body in my hands and 
caressing him as I do my pet pigeons whom I often 
wake from their sleep. 

When he got near Virginia he climbed into a tree 
with a satisfied " Tsip ! " and I left him. 

He was an exquisite night singer; indeed, one of 
his names is the American nightingale, and one sum- 
mer I had to request him to descend to the basement 
to sleep, as his loud night-singing disturbed a 
delicate neighbor. He was a very mischievous bird, 
and one day when I v/as carrying a hammer and 
nails about the aviary, he espied a match in the box, 
and darting down, flew off with it for his nest. I 
pursued him for a long time before I could per- 
suade him to drop the dangerous plaything. 

It is a great delight to me to reflect that these 

^'17 



My Pets 

lovely cardinals can no longer be bought in the 
birdstores. How any one can enjoy the sight of 
this bright red bird, with his wild, free spirit hop- 
ping to and fro in the narrow confines of a cage, is 
as much of a mystery to me as the wearing of his 
dull and lifeless skin in a hat. We must educate our 
children into the conviction that a dead bird is as 
grotesque an ornament as a dead mouse or a dead 
frog. 



238 




CHAPTER XXIV 



SPARROWS AND SWALLOWS 



POOR little brown immigrants, how many ene- 
mies and how few friends they have, and yet 
what have they done to deserve so hard a fate? 
Merely following out the biblical instruction to 
multiply and increase — they always remind me of 
true Anglo-Saxon stock. They protect the family, 
they fight all strangers and, " Colonize, colonize," is 
their motto. 

I have had quite an extensive acquaintance with 
the English sparrow, both in town and in the 
country, and I think that this bad boy of the air has 
a worse name than he deserves. Undoubtedly he is 
bad; so are all boys, and all birds, and all men and 

239 



My Pets 

women. We want supervision, correction, restric- 
tion — but the sparrow has good points. 

Sparrow mothers lead all birds in mothering, as 
far as my observation goes. Again and again I have 
put a baby sparrow on the roof. He is a stranger 
picked up in the street. I do not know what nest he 
comes from, he does not know, no one knows. He 
is like the poor dog in the express car on a certain 
railway that ate up his tag. No one knew what 
place he was bound for. 

Well, the instant the lost sparrow opens his little 
beak and gives a cry of distress, three or four 
mother sparrows come flying toward him with their 
beaks full of food. They don't wait to see whose 
baby he is, as some human mothers would wait. He 
is a baby, and he is hungry, and they are going 
to feed him, and they do it until he flutters from 
the roof, and I have to pick him up and take care 
of him myself. If I put him in a cage and set him 
back on the roof, the street sparrows will try all 
day long to feed him through the bars. Yes, indeed, 
a mother sparrow is the best mother bird I know. 

I have never tried them with the young of other 
birds, but I have tried their young with canaries. 
My canaries are the dearest and best of parents to 
their own nestlings, but none of them will feed the 
babies of other canaries. As for young robins, yellow 
warblers, finches, and sparrows, they utterly ignore 
them, unless they have particularly piercing voices. 
In these cases the canaries grow nervous and stuff 

240 



Sparrows and Swallows 

their own young ones as if they thought the cries 
of distress issued from their throats. 

Once I saw a canary hitch up to a young sparrow 
and look down its throat. He then shook his crest 
and hopped away, as if to say, '* I could never fill 
that cavity." Two summers ago I put a demure, 
well-behaved young sparrow baby into a cage of 
German canaries. She hopped into the nest, settled 
her little gray body down among the four yellow 
birds, and unheeding the mother's impatient pushes 
and shrugs, sat there till she grew old enough to 
take to a perch. After a time I took her out of the 
cage and put her on the veranda. She played there 
all day, but every night she came in to sleep near 
the canaries. 

I knew she was in the room, for she flew out every 
morning when I opened the screen-door, but where 
was her sleeping-place ? I looked high and low, but 
could not find her for a long time, until late one 
night, when I was saying, " I wonder where that 
bird is ? " I saw something move slightly on the top 
of the canaries' cage. A sheet was thrown over it, 
and under the sheet was the smallest and flattest 
projection. I laughed as I looked at it, and said, 
" I have found it at last." 

Every night this quaint little sparrow, Judy by 
name, had crawled up under the sheet and had slept 
on the wires of the cage, over her foster-mother and 
the young canaries. It was a very uncomfortable 
sleeping-place, and after I found her out she never 
Q 241 



My Pets 

used it again, but took to a box on the wall near 
a mirror. There she sat calmly gazing at me night 
after night as I held up the light to look at her. 

She was so interesting that I could not let her 
go. She seems to recognize a certain kinship with 
the street sparrows, for she chirps excitedly to 
them, but she does not care to go out with them, and 
has chosen for a mate a widowed Java sparrow, who 
is not so devoted to her as she is to him. He is good 
to her, however, and flies about with her, but she 
does all the nest-making. This summer she had a 
curious structure of straw among some fir branches 
that she kept adding to, until it was over a foot 
long. For some months she laid eggs in the middle 
of this nest. Occasionally I took out a few and gave 
them to the other birds to eat, but when I lifted the 
nest down this autumn there were still a dozen in it. 

I was sorry she had been too flighty to rear some 
Java and English sparrow-hybrids. They would 
have been most interesting. Perhaps she will have 
more steadiness next summer. I used to be amused 
with her at breakfast-time. She would lean far 
out of her nest to see what I was giving to the other 
birds, then with a joyful sound to her mate that 
sounded like, " O Java," she would fly down to 
investigate. 

One sparrow I had, learned to sing some of the 
notes of the Brazil cardinal. The cardinal hated 
him and beat him frequently, but the sparrow fol- 
lowed him from place to place, and practised his 

242 



Sparrows and Swallows 

little tune till it was becoming quite perfect. A 
sparrow is said to have a good vocal apparatus, and 
I suppose there is no reason why he should not 
sing if he wants to. Unfortunately, I put this bird 
out of the aviary, and I have never heard him sing 
again. Perhaps the birds in the street shamed him 
out of it. 

My sparrows have mostly been good sparrows, 
and as a class have not been greater fighters than 
other birds. I have observed them in the aviary and 
out of it, and have rarely seen them chase or annoy 
smaller birds. In the city, goldfinches, robins, some 
warblers, purple finches, and song-sparrows came 
about the roof-veranda, and talked to the birds in- 
side the netting, and sometimes my canaries go out 
and fly about, but the sparrows never interfere with 
them. 

On my farm the sparrows were equally good. 
They never injured the tiny wild birds that came for 
food, but fed peaceably with them. On neighboring 
farms sparrows were known to tear swallows' nests 
to pieces, but they never molested my swallows, 
though they built close to our house doors. I think 
possibly the reason lay in the abundance of food 
scattered about. The little rogues knew that there 
was enough for them summer and winter. They 
understood that I liked them, and they did not harm 
my other pets. 

They are most intelligent birds. Living by their 
wits has developed them amazingly. In Paris I 

243 



My Pets 

used to be interested with their discrimination in the 
matter of making friends. An elderly man who fed 
a flock in the Tuileries Gardens had gained the 
confidence of every member of it. They would not 
come to strangers, but when he called "Jeanne! 
Pierre ! " and the rest of their names, each bird 
would fly to him in turn. 

I had a great affection for the skimming swallows 
about my farm, and often watched them as they 
caught flies or went to the low ground for mud 
for their interesting nests. I was very sorry to find 
that many of these graceful swallows suffered as 
much from parasites as other wild birds I had 
known. 

One case, on a farm near me, was quite painful 
for the sufferers. A window in a carriage-house 
loft had been left open, and a pair of old swallows, 
finding the rafters a secluded place, built a fine mud 
nest against them. When the young ones were 
hatched they were visited every day by the farmer's 
wife, who grieved to find them attacked by fat 
worms that mostly crawled into their ears. These 
worms were half an inch long, had no hair, but 
possessed rudimentary feet like a caterpillar's, that 
were only visible under a microscope. One worm 
penetrated a young bird's nostril so far that only a 
tiny piece of his body was visible. Enough re- 
mained In sight to seize upon, but his forced exit 
from the nostril was followed by a gush of blood. 
The sore place soon got well, and the other young 

244 



Sparrows and Swallows 

swallows also recovered after their ears were cleaned 
out. 

The kind-hearted mistress of the farm destroyed 
this mud nest, made a new one of excelsior and wool, 
put the little swallows in it, and the parents, far 
from being frightened by this radical change in their 
environment, went on feeding their young ones, 
conducted them out into the world beyond the 
carriage house, and came back the next year to nest 
in the same place. 

Two stories about the swallows interested me 
greatly. The first one was to the effect that the 
robin was the bird who undertook to teach the first 
swallow created how to build a nest. I could 
imagine the fussy, nervous robin entering upon the 
task with great haste, and it is said that she very 
quickly got out of patience. Every time she opened 
her beak to tell the swallow how to choose her mud 
and sticks, and how to shape the nest, the intelligent 
bird would say, " I know that ; I know that." At 
last, and unfortunately when the nest was only half 
finished, the robin became exasperated and flew 
away, and from that day to this every swallow has to 
be content with a partial home that often falls to 
pieces. 

The second story was a Swedish one, and relates 
that when the crucified Christ hung on the cross, a 
swallow kept flying back and forth crying, " Svala ! 
svala ! " — comfort, comfort ! 

I do not believe in the increase of sparrows, and 

245 



My Pets 

yet I bring up a certain number of them every year. 
How can I refuse the children who come to me with 
the tiny birds and say, " This is our sparrow, please 
feed him. We will call in a few days to see how 
he is." 

" Children," I often say falteringly, " if this is a 
sick sparrow, you won't blame me if I chloroform 
him?" 

" Oh, no," they always cheerfully reply, but un- 
fortunately the sparrow is rarely a sick sparrow. 
He is usually in the best of health, and he opens 
his yellow-rimmed beak and stares trustingly at 
me, and after I give him one meal my fate is sealed. 
I am nurse-in-chief for many days, though a young 
sparrow, of all my birds, learns soonest to feed him- 
self. Life is sacred in the eyes of children, and the 
way to get rid of sparrows is not by inciting boys 
and girls to destroy them. 

The whole department of bird and animal life 
should be under supervision. We have too many 
cats and dogs, too many sparrows and pigeons in 
our cities. The health of the citizens is the first con- 
sideration. Each city should maintain bird-houses, 
and bird reservations. If I can raise shy birds on a 
city veranda, why could not more wild birds be raised 
in bird-houses in public gardens and parks? 

It would not be an easy matter to thin out the 
sparrows, or utterly to destroy them, but it could be 
done, and our wild birds could be enticed back, and 
less money and time be spent in fighting insect 

246 



Sparrows and Swallows 

pests. The birds' little beaks will do more effective 
work than all our spraying and tree-climbing. 

It must amuse the birds immensely to see big, 
clumsy mankind trying to ferret out the gipsy moth, 
for example. The sparrows do eat some insects' 
eggs and larvae, for I have seen them do it inside 
and outside my aviary — but it is a hopeless task to 
try to defend these poor little fellows — these " avian 
rats," these " cosmopolitan pests," as ornithologists 
call them. I cannot dislike them nor call them 
names. They are brave little birds, and when I 
throw open my window on a cold winter morning, 
and see them waiting on the opposite roofs for their 
breakfast, and reflect that they alone of all the 
summer birds are left to us in the city, I cannot deal 
harshly with them. 

Under a certain tree, is emptied each day a certain 
amount of grain, no more no less, and it is put there 
whether I am at home or not. Birds like to know 
what to depend on. They don't want to be fed spas- 
modically any more than we do. All day the spar- 
rows flutter about the house. As far as I can make 
out we have a flock of sixty or seventy in our neigh- 
borhood. When night comes they tuck themselves 
away under the house-eaves, getting near the chim- 
neys if they can. When the time comes to exter- 
minate them I will help. In the meantime I do not 
see what good it would do to carry on an unsys- 
tematic and shocking killing of the helpless young 
ones — the pets of my children friends. 

247 




CHAPTER XXV 
A MOTHER Carey's chicken 

PERHAPS the strangest pet I had in my aviary 
was a black bird that was brought to the door 
one evening by a boy. He said that a young man 
had picked up this pigeon on the common, and had 
told him to bring it to me. I found that it was a 
sooty-looking bird, with a tubular bill and white 
feathers at the end of its tail — evidently a Mother 
Carey's chicken — that had probably been flying 
across the peninsula on which the city of Halifax is 
built, and had dropped in exhaustion. I saw that it 
was ill, and as soon as I could, hurried to the fish 
market and interviewed an old sailor who had fished 
on the banks of Newfoundland. He told me that 

248 



A Mother Carey's Chicken 

flocks of these petrels used to follow his ship, eating 
the fish livers that were thrown overboard and that 
floated for days behind them. He had no liver on 
hand, but he gave me a whiting, for he said that fish 
would also float on the water. 

I knew nothing about these deep-sea matters — I 
only know Mother Carey's chickens by seeing them 
follow Atlantic steamers ; but finding that the petrel 
would not eat the whiting, I went back to the sailor 
and got some liver that he had managed to secure 
for me. 

The petrel would not eat this either, so I called my 
sister and asked her to kindly get out our feeding- 
sticks. After cutting up pieces of the liver she took 
them one by one on her sticks and dropped them into 
the bird's long bill that I held open for her. After a 
meal was over I wiped his face and put him on the 
floor, and he scuttled under the radiator. One day I 
put him in a bath, but he went right under the water, 
and I had to take him out. 

He never fed himself, and three times a day we 
got out our sticks and the fish liver. He was gentle 
but feeble, and was more lively at night than during 
the day. 

When displeased he made a peeping noise, and at 
all times he possessed a strong and peculiar smell. 

I had him for three weeks, and for a time he im- 
proved, and would fly low over the floor, ascending 
and descending as if going over waves of the sea. 

I hoped that he would soon get entirely well, so 

249 



My Pets 

that I might give him his liberty, but he suddenly be- 
came very ill and died, regretted on account of his 
gentle disposition. 

We photographed him before losing him, and 
found him a good bird to pose. Some of our birds 
were most aggravating when they saw a camera. 
They were not afraid of it, but they acted like 
naughty children, getting behind it and under it, and 
everywhere but in front of it. Many an hysterical 
laugh have we had when, time after time, just as a 
successful group of birds, dogs, cats, or hens had 
been placed in good position, half our pets would get 
up and saunter away. 

At last the sight of the camera produced such a 
state of merriment in the family that my sister, who 
had infinite patience with our pets, would send us 
all away, and manage the four and two-footed 
creatures alone. 

In speaking of unmanageable pets, I must make 
honorable mention of our fox terrier Billy, who was 
with the birds so much that he might almost be 
called an inhabitant of the aviary. He did not love 
the birds — he was jealous of them — but he never 
harmed them and, moreover, they knew he would 
not harm them, and had no fear of him. He never 
played with them, but he would wallow with Sukey 
in the accumulation of scraps, seeds, grass, and 
other rubbish on sweeping days in the aviary, until 
I have seen the maid gently push them both aside 
with her broom. 

250 



A Mother Carey's Chicken 

Billy would cheerfully pose when he saw a 
camera, and follow us whenever we went to the 
photographers in the town. One day when my 
mother was having her picture taken, Billy placed 
himself at her feet. The photographer took him up 
and lifted him to what he considered a more attract- 
ive position. 

I shall never forget the look of doggish reproach 
that Billy gave him as he walked back to his original 
position, and held it. It seemed to say, " Don't you 
know, sir, that I am a dog that is used to posing? I 
know how to show off my good points better than 
you do." 

Strangers sometimes remarked that no member of 
our family was photographed without this pet dog. 

" We cannot help it," we used to reply, " Billy 
follows us and gets into the picture. We can't keep 
him out." 

Dear little dog! He was the last of the real ani- 
mals in " Beautiful Joe," to leave us, and a year ago, 
at the age of sixteen years and a half, lay down one 
day to die, as calmly and peacefully as he had lived. 



251 




CHAPTER XXVI 



SWEET-SWEET AND THE SAINT OF THE AVIARY 



AMONG the books that I bought when I started 
my aviary was one that amused me im- 
mensely. It was a clever book, but the description 
of each bird almost always began with the assertion 
that this particular bird was the best, the brightest, 
and the prettiest bird of the entire race of birds. 

I have not had the variety of birds described in 
that book, but now that I am attempting to relate 
the particulars of some of my pets, I find myself 
tempted to ascend up to the same heights of eulogy. 
Each bird is the best bird. Each one is the most 
beautiful, the most lovable — one has to exercise self- 
restraint to avoid exaggeration. 

252 



Sweet-Sweet and the Saint of the Aviary 

I have had quite a large number of birds that 
I cannot write about at length. I will merely men- 
tion some of them. 

I one day expressed a wish to have some blue- 
jays in the presence of a bird-fancier, and shortly 
afterward he arrived with a pair that he had bought 
from a woman near Halifax, in one of the colored 
settlements composed of descendants of Southern 
Negroes. They were handsome birds, and as I re- 
leased them in the aviary I could not help thinking 
that if they were foreigners how greatly they would 
be sought after. 

Their appearance in the aviary occasioned the 
greatest consternation among some of my birds, 
whose instinct recognized in them hereditary ene- 
mies. This instinct of fear in these partly domesti- 
cated birds is the same that makes them cower when 
a hawk passes over their cages. 

One indigo bunting fainted and fell motionless on 
the ground. I took her upstairs where she would 
not see them, and the other birds soon quieted down, 
for the bluejays went into a corner and stayed there, 
only occasionally uttering harsh, unhappy cries. 

I wondered how they had ever contented them- 
selves in a small cage with the colored woman, if 
they were so unhappy in my aviary. I begged them 
to have patience, that there were fires in the forests 
about the city, and as soon as they were extinguished 
I would set my prisoners free. 

Finally a bright morning came, when I put them 

253 



My Pets 

outside the window, and they flew swiftly away, and 
I hope are living happily in my beautiful native land. 

Shortly after they left me, a small boy arrived at 
our door with a tiny cage, scarcely suitable for a 
canary. 

" I heard you had a pair of blue jays you don't 
want," he remarked composedly, " and I thought I 
would take them and keep them in this cage." 

I tried to make him view this proposition from the 
blue jays' point of view, and embraced the occasion 
of preaching again the doctrine that it is a cruel 
thing for a boy to rob a bird's nest, or confine a bird 
in a cage. Also, that I wanted no eggs from nests, 
and no nestlings, except those that had wandered far 
from their parents, and who would starve if left to 
themselves. 

I found no trouble in getting boys to understand 
this. Boys and girls are just what the grown people 
make them. If we are kind to birds they will imi- 
tate us. 

Among the small birds that I have owned were 
some interesting native siskins, that I found lan- 
guishing downtown in a tiny cage one hot August 
day. I bought them, and the delight of these wild 
birds on getting into roomy quarters was very 
touching. 

They flew at once to the spruce and fir trees, and 
began eating their tips. Subsequently I gave them 
their liberty, and they raced each other to the tops 
of the tallest trees they could find. 

254 



Sweet-Sweet and the Saint of the Aviary 

A smaller bird than the siskin was a tiny, yellow 
warbler whose eyes seemed unnaturally large for 
the size of its body. A little girl brought it to me 
one morning, closely folded in her moist hands. 

" It is a weeny thing," she said in an awed voice. 
" I saw it in our stable. It would not go away, so I 
walked up to it and put my hands over it, for I was 
afraid pussy would get it." 

" It is one of the many warblers in this neighbor- 
hood," I said. " They often come to the wire netting 
and talk to my birds. I will take good care of it." 

I intended to release the little creature as soon 
as he got rested, but he became so tame and followed 
me about with such unmistakable devotion shining 
from his dark eyes that I could not bear to part from 
him. 

Sweet-Sweet I named my new pet, and one Sun- 
day morning I was inexpressibly grieved to find that 
I had accidentally struck the little fellow as he 
came too near me. 

I picked him up and sprinkled water on him when- 
ever he had a fit or seizure, in which he either lay 
still or fluttered wildly to and fro. I did not go to 
church, but devoted myself to poor Sweet-Sweet, 
and encouraged him to eat when he came out of his 
spasms. By night-time he was almost well, and next 
day had quite recovered. 

Unfortunately, and to my very great surprise, my 
bird with the melting eyes was a great fighter, and 
would attack birds so much larger than himself that 

255 



My Pets 

I trembled for his safety. He was not nearly so 
large as my canaries, but he would fight any of them 
with the greatest intrepidity. 

I really should have allowed this little beautiful 
but mischievous bird to fly away when the autumn 
came, but I had grown so much attached to him 
and he was so much at home in the aviary that I 
could not make up my mind to let him go. I also 
had a little curiosity to see whether I could keep a 
warbler all winter. 

He got on nicely until one unfortunate day, when 
he made up his bird mind to bully one of my Jap- 
anese robins. 

I have never found these robins quarrelsome, but 
this one deeply resented Sweet-Sweet's interference 
with the rapid tenor of his way. I was just wonder- 
ing what I should do with my naughty warbler, for 
I knew his gay, impatient spirit would fret itself to 
death in a cage, when one day I found that the 
Japanese bird had flown into a rage with him, and 
had almost torn him to pieces. 

I was shocked — I can hardly express the short, 
sharp pain I felt, when I picked up that tiny, beloved 
bird body. Only a bird, but how dear! If I had 
only let him fly away with the other yellow warblers 
to some fair southern land ! I selected two of the 
greenish-yellow feathers, crossed them, and put 
them in my bird diary with the mournful entry of his 
death. 

Sweet-Sweet had been a worse fighter than any 

256 



Sweet-Sweet and the Saint of the Aviary 

English sparrow I ever saw, and a worse bully and 
fighter than Sweet-Sweet, was another small bird I 
possessed for years — a brilliant red, blue, and gold 
nonpareil. 

He was not brilliant when I got him. I had seen 
pictures of nonpareils, and had asked a bird-dealer 
to get me a pair. He sent them to me one cold 
winter evening, and to my dismay, on opening the 
birds' traveling-cages I found that one of them was 
diseased, his red neck being bare of feathers. 

I wrote the bird-dealer an indignant letter, re- 
proving him for sending a sick bird on a journey, 
and telling him that I never again would buy a 
bird from him. The proper way, of course, to dis- 
courage the traffic in birds is not to buy them. This 
dealer probably cared little for my remonstrance. 

I put this little sufferer at once into a large cage, 
with fresh seeds and water. He had a succession 
of fits, and tumbled and fluttered about his cage. 
However, in between the fits he would eat and drink, 
while I sat admiring his courage. When bedtime 
came he heroically mounted a perch and sat there, 
so weak that he rocked to and fro for a long time 
before his little claws got a firm grip of the perch. 
Finally he was able to put his head under his wing, 
or back of his wing, as I always wish to say, and 
went to sleep. 

When I read bird stories as a child I always 
fancied that a bird put the head under the side of 
the wing next the breast, whereas he reaches back 
R 257 



My Pets 

and tucks the head behind the wing. The position 
looks uncomfortable, but I suppose the bird knows 
best about that. 

As I have said before, I was disappointed in the 
appearance of these dull, olive-green nonpareils. 
They were young ones, and I had to wait three years 
for them to become like the beautiful birds in my 
books, with the violet heads and necks, the partly 
red and partly green backs. 

They are natives of Mexico and Central America, 
and rarely get farther north than northern Illinois 
and Kansas. They used to be trapped in great num- 
bers and shipped to the Northern States, there to 
languish in captivity. They are partly insectivorous 
birds, and miss their accustomed diet in cage Hfe. If 
canaries required insect food they never would have 
become the highly domesticated birds that they are. 

I put my sick nonpareil into the cage with a Java 
sparrow that was also out of condition. I scarcely 
thought the new-comer would live through the night, 
but my mother, who is an early riser, called out to 
me in the morning that the little Southerner was as 
" pert " as possible. 

I had a hard time with him, as I had also with 
Java. They both lost all their feathers. The non- 
pareil was the worst looking bird I ever saw. I 
called him Baby, and he was soon a naked, skinny, 
scaly-legged baby, with nothing attractive about him 
but his soft, dewy eyes. I kept him and Java oiled 
and secluded in my study. They were not ugly to 

258 



Sweet-Sweet and the Saint of the Aviary 

me, but strangers were apt to burst into peals of 
laughter at sight of their featherless bodies. 

Every night I woke them up about eleven o'clock 
to take a late supper, for they became rather indif- 
ferent about their food, though apparently they did 
not suffer. I dreaded the long winter nights for 
them in their enfeebled condition. Java became 
very tame, and when I tapped the cage and said, 
" Come out for a walk," he would hop all around the 
room. Of course, there was no flying for either of 
them in their condition. 

Everything passes with time, and in a few months 
my birds' purplish-red bodies became dark in hue, 
then crowds of downy pin-feathers jostled each 
other. In a short time my hideous little pets were, 
one, the exquisitely-hued nonpareil, the other the 
modest gray and white sparrow, with feathers 
overlapping so smoothly that he looked like a carved 
bird. 

I regret to say his prosperity, instead of sweeten- 
ing Baby's disposition, soured it, and when I put 
him into the aviary he speedily took to himself the 
role of persecutor. He was so small that he could 
not do much harm, but he used to fight continually, 
often in a very amusing fashion. 

One day I saw him attack a fawn-colored, 
foreign finch that we called the Widow. She was 
eating seeds from a box, and Baby tried to push 
her away. The Widow bit him and would not 
yield. Then Baby seized her tail and pulled it. She 

259 



My Pets 

did not seem to mind this, so he pulled harder. 
Then, as she was still indifferent, he fell upon her 
and gave her a beating and forced her to leave him 
in possession of the field. This was not serious, but 
the naughty Baby progressed in wickedness, and 
finally whipped a timid canary so violently that she 
died, and also struck a Bengalese finch a blow that 
was the cause of his death. Bullying was bad 
enough, but this was murder, so at last I kept the 
bad little nonpareil in my room the most of the time. 
He perched on a cage in the wall near my mirror, 
and seemed to take a certain amount of satisfaction 
in being with me. He lived for several years, and 
only died a few months ago. I noticed one day that 
he seemed very much excited, and leaving my room 
flew into other bedrooms — a thing he rarely did. One 
morning a little later I found him lying motionless 
on the floor. His little mischievous life was over, 
and I was sorry for it, for when he was good he was 
" very, very good." 

The saint of the aviary is little Blue Boy, the 
indigo bunting, alive yet, and prosperous, though 
I have feared for his life again and again. I never 
saw him strike a bird. I never saw him do anything 
naughty. He is quiet and gentle in his habits, never 
interferes with the other little birds, gets up early, 
waits patiently for his food till others have finished, 
retires to quiet corners and sings his little tinkling 
songs, goes to bed betimes, and if it is a warm 
moonlight night, is apt to wake up three or four 

260 



p--«^i**^(«*. 




Indigo Bunting 
Page 260 



Sweet-Sweet and the Saint of the Aviary 

times and sing to himself, not loudly, but loudly 
enough to cheer any light sleeper. 

He never chose a mate. He never seemed to want 
one. He is the most quiet, self-contained, meek 
little bird imaginable. If any bird chases him he 
flies to his little box in my room. The only thing 
he begs for is a cockroach. He will hop toward me 
in the morning with a pleading expression, if I have 
not one of the most unprepossessing members of the 
beetle tribe for him. 

At one time I started cockroach culture in a 
companion box to that of the meal-worms. My 
mother was resigned, but doubtful about the experi- 
ment, and I noticed that the cockroaches all fell 
victims to some sudden calamity during one of my 
absences from home. 

However, by diligent search, we can usually find 
two or three around the hot-water pipes at night, 
and the maid I have taking care of the birds, writes 
me that she tries hard to get " a Cockroach every 
Night for the Little Blue Bird." 



261 




CHAPTER XXVII 



A HUMMINGBIRD^ AND NATIVE AND FOREIGN 
FINCHES 

THE bird that paid the briefest visit to my aviary 
was a hummingbird. I had him for a day, 
then there was a rush of wings and he was gone. 
My first experience with this interesting and tiniest 
member of the bird race was in California. While 
sauntering one day about the beautiful grounds of 
the Belmont School a lad said to me, " Come and see 
a new bird's nest." He took me to a spot close to a 
rustic bridge where, in the long blades of what we 
in the East call " ribbon grass," and only a few fee^ 
from the ground, a hummingbird had fastened an 

262 



A Hummingbird and Finches 

exquisite, fairylike cup, made of the softest plant 
down. 

There sat the mother bird on two pure white 
eggs, gazing calmly at the schoolboy who, with a 
number of his friends, visited her daily. One boy 
got into serious trouble for, with mistaken zeal, he 
tried to feed bread-crumbs to the little mother, and 
brought down on his head a severe reprimand from 
the older lads. 

As I hung over the dainty nest I wondered 
whether the hummingbird had had an eye for the 
beautiful, in choosing this spot to bring up her 
nestlings. Just below her home, a small brook or 
" creek " as Californians say, ran among great 
clumps of calla lilies. Among the lilies, lived several 
frogs, and as we leaned over the rustic bridge above 
them, we used to call " Little brother," and rouse 
one fat frog who would respond, " Lit-tle Bro-ther, 
Lit-tle Bro-ther," till the other frogs would take up 
the friendly refrain and send it resounding away up 
the creek. 

These schoolboys were the best boys that I ever 
saw to birds. Two hundred of them went daily to 
and fro in the finely wooded school-grounds, thirty- 
five acres in extent, and every one seemed to be 
mindful of the head master's strict injunction that 
no one should kill any birds but a bluejay. 

All the song-birds were fearless, and rewarded 
the boys by constant and exquisite music. The hum- 
mingbirds were the boys' chief favorites, and early 

263 



My Pets 

one morning when they found a number of their pets 
chilled and benumbed on the ground they took them 
up, administered sugar and water, and when the 
little creatures had become quite warm, and the 
genial Californian sun was well up in the sky, they 
gave them their liberty, and rejoiced to see these 
brilliant jewels of the air darting thankfully away. 

My next experience with a hummingbird was in 
Canada. During our pleasant summer weather we 
always had, if in the city, window-boxes full of 
nasturtiums, and to these boxes several humming- 
birds came daily. Whenever we heard the rapid 
vibration of our brilliant-winged visitors conversa- 
tion was hushed in the rooms inside. 

One summer evening a man brought me a young 
hummingbird, and said that his cat had caught it, 
but fortunately he had been able to rescue it before 
any harm had been done. The little bird was cold 
and feeble, and taking him in my hand I put his 
head against my face. After the manner of young 
hummingbirds with their parents, before they leave 
the nest, he put his tiny bill into my mouth and 
thrust out an extremely long and microscopic 
tongue in search of food. 

He soon discovered that he was not with his 
parents. I had neither honey nor insects for him. 
However, I did the next best thing, and sent to a 
druggist for the purest honey that he had. In the 
meantime, I put my tiny visitor on the window- 
boxes. The old hummingbirds must have taken all the 

264 



A Hummingbird and Finches 

honey, for he seemed to find nothing there to satisfy 
him until I put some of that the druggist sent into 
the blossoms. I held them to his bill and he drank 
greedily, then, after looking around the room, he 
flew up to a picture frame, put his head under his 
wing, and went to sleep. 

The next morning at daylight I looked up at the 
picture. The hummingbird woke up, said " Peep, 
peep ! " a great number of times, in a thin, sweet 
voice, no louder than a cricket's chirp, but did not 
come down. 

I got up, filled a nasturtium with honey, pinned it 
to a stick, and held it up to my little visitor, who 
was charmed to have his breakfast in bed. Finally 
he condescended to come down, visited other flowers 
and had more drinks, then I opened the window 
and told him he was too lovely and too exquisite 
an occupant for an aviary, and he had better seek 
his brilliant brothers of the outer air. 

He went like a flash of sunshine, and I have never 
regretted releasing him, for I would rather have had 
an eagle die on my hands than this tiny, painted 
beauty. Hummingbirds have been kept in captivity 
when great care has been exercised in providing for 
them. A conservatory or hothouse is a good place 
for them, for there they get the sun's rays which are 
absolutely essential to their well-being, and they also 
find on the plants the nearest approach to their 
natural food. 

The objection to this method of keeping these 

265 



/ My Pets 

fragile birds is that their deHcate frames are quickly 
injured by coming into contact with hard substances 
during their rapid flight. The better way is to en- 
close them inside a mosquito netting stretched on a 
frame. The best way of all is never to confine them 
— to give them entire liberty, for of all birds the 
hummingbird is the least suitable for a life of 
languishing captivity. 

Purple finches have been very favorite pets of 
mine. Those that I have had have been quiet and 
amiable, and among the most good-natured and 
obliging of my birds. The first time I heard them 
sing I was enraptured. Their song was so sweet, 
so modest, so melodious. One finch I possessed 
amused me greatly. He fell into a kind of slavery to 
a siskin, who followed him and worried him until 
he at last consented to help her make a nest, in 
which there were some fine young ones that might 
have turned out promising hybrids if some wicked, 
larger bird had not one day killed the neat, deter- 
mined little mother. I found her headless body be- 
side her nest. She had died in defense of her home. 
One of the gallinules had probably come along and 
killed her when she refused to leave her nest. 

Her death was a tragedy, but it left the hen- 
pecked finch free, and he soon devoted himself to his 
best-loved bird — a female finch of his own class. 
He adored this shy, second mate — the siskin had 
been a bold little thing. I often opened the door of 
the veranda-room for him and sat quietly in a 

266 



A Hummingbird and Finches 

corner while he led in the finch so that they could 
be away from the rougher birds outside. 

Picking up a little bit of wool or hair in his beak 
the finch would elevate his head-feathers till they 
almost formed a crest, and would extend his reddish 
wings and shake them till they looked like a hum- 
mingbird's. Then, making a pretty, coaxing noise, 
he would spin round and round the room in a kind 
of skirt dance. 

The female teased him a good deal by looking the 
other way and pretending not to see him, but finally 
he persuaded her to make a nest, where she laid 
eggs and hatched them, but the young ones only 
lived a short time — I think because she was shy and 
easily frightened from them. 

She almost fell a victim to another tragedy, for 
one day, on stepping to the veranda, I found her 
swinging from a branch by her slender neck. I 
ran to her, and found that a long hair had become 
fastened round her neck, and if I had not oppor- 
tunely appeared she would soon have strangled to 
death. Fortunately she seemed none the worse for 
her adventure. 

She was a brave little bird, and one habit of hers 
used to amuse me immensely. She was a great 
bather, and enjoyed her baths keenly during mild 
weather. Unlike many of my birds, who absolutely 
would not bathe when the cold days came, she kept 
on, but as if urged to her ablutions by a sense of 
duty she cried all the time she was bathing. 

267 



My Pets 

" Wee, wee ! " she would exclaim, as she splashed 
into the water, then rose up tremblingly, " This 
water is dreadfully cold, but I must bathe. Wee, 
wee ! " and down she would go again. I kept the 
aviary quite cool in the winter, but any birds that 
liked could sit near the hot-water pipes. 

Very different from our native finches are the 
little foreigners of the same name. I am informed 
that there are thousands and thousands of these tiny 
foreign finches brought to America from Africa, 
Asia, and Australia. Some are only two and a half 
inches long, some are four, few are as large as the 
average canary. 

Many of these finches are bred in captivity, but in 
most cases they are wild, and are caught by natives 
with more or less cruelty. Some of the African 
finches are said to be stupefied by the smoke of 
fires built under their roosting-places. They drop 
into blankets spread by the cunning Negroes and 
are given to captains of vessels in exchange for 
mock jewelry or rum. 

On shipboard they are placed in boxes with wire 
fronts and their little anxious faces rise tier on 
tier. The voyage is long, and overcrowding and 
disease do their work. The wonder is that any sur- 
vive. Fancy the contrast between the splendors of 
the African forest and the horrors of this crowded 
ship! 

Upon arriving in America the bird-dealers take 
the tiny captives in hand, open their filthy cages, put 

268 



A Hummingbird and Finches 

them in clean ones, and exhibit them in their 
windows. 

I do not beHeve that there is any overpowering 
desire on the part of the American pubUc to possess 
these fragile foreigners. However, the bird-dealer 
must live, and when passers-by see the pale blue, 
ruby, lavender, or orange-colored little beauties in 
the windows, they buy them and kindly and igno- 
rantly set about keeping them. Of course, the birds 
in most cases die, but the Negro goes on getting his 
rum, the captain gets his money, and the dealer 
makes a living. 

I believe the average person would rather have a 
canary than a finch. The canary is used to this cli- 
mate and the finch is not. Why not have all this 
traffic in caged birds supervised by humane so- 
cieties ? I do not wish to reflect upon the character 
of all bird-dealers. Many of them are honest men, 
and some of them I know really love their birds. 
There are, however, many dealers who are in the 
business solely to make money, and as long as they 
are permitted to do as they please, birds will suffer. 

Humane societies are not money-making concerns. 
The members usually consist of the most altruistic 
citizens of any place. They wish to do what is for 
the good of their village, town, or city. It would 
certainly be better for the birds and better for the 
public to have them regulate this traffic. 

I had only two pairs of foreign finches. I would 
buy no more when I learned how they were cap- 

269 



My Pets 

tured. The first were cutthroats, and dear Httle 
birds they were, so devoted to each other and so 
surprised to find that the bird world was not full of 
good little creatures like themselves. When other 
birds boxed their ears they would fly to each other, 
rub each other's heads, and murmur consolation. 

They were fawn-colored birds, delicately mottled 
on the breast, with dark-brown spots. The male 
only had the red stripe across the throat, that gives 
him his dreadful name. They were very tame, and 
often while I stood close to them the male, as if 
struck by a sudden thought, would jump up, dance 
up and down on his tiny feet, turning his body from 
side to side as he did so, and sing a hoarse little 
song. The song and dance were so comical that I 
frequently burst out laughing, but his feelings never 
seemed hurt, and he soon broke out again. 

In the intervals between his dancing he would 
press close to his diminutive mate — she was much 
smaller than a canary — and carried on his favorite 
occupation of gently rubbing her head with his beak. 
Once, when she was struck by a large bird, I saw 
her fly right to him, and it was very pretty to 
observe the intensely affectionate, sympathetic way 
in which he went all over her head with his tiny 
beak, as if to say, "Which is the sore place? — let 
me rub it for you." 

They were so devoted to each other that they in- 
variably kept together when flying from one part 
of the aviary to the other, so that one day I was sur- 

270 



A Hummingbird and Finches 

prised to see them separated. I looked about and 
found that they had made a nest over some hot- 
water pipes. These little birds are very prolific, and 
hatch young ones freely in captivity. A lady is re- 
ported to have had from one pair in three years, as 
many as forty-five broods — altogether over two hun- 
dred and forty eggs, from which one hundred and 
seventy-six were hatched. I hoped very much that 
I might have some tiny cutthroats, but the nest was 
in too warm a place, and the eggs did not amount to 
anything. 

A new bird, on going into an aviary, usually 
chooses a pet place for sleeping and resting, and 
keeps to it. The little cutthroats chose their place 
in some fir trees near the doves. The doves pushed 
them about a little, but the cutthroats soon learned 
to avoid them. 

The only birds that conquered the doves were the 
Java sparrows. These sparrows are nice little birds, 
but I never had a high opinion of their intelligence, 
until I saw how they dominated these same stub- 
born doves. 

They never bothered the doves in summer, but 
every winter the Javas persisted in sleeping between 
them on cold nights. On going into the aviary after 
dark, I would see one Java tucked between the 
doves, and another on the outside of one of them. 

The clever little things had discovered that the 
doves' bodies were warm and comforting. I was 
puzzled to know how they maintained their footing, 

271 



- ^ My Pets 

for the doves gave resounding slaps of their wings 
to any Httle bird who went too near them. 

One night I discovered the Javas' trick. When 
the dove lifted its wing to strike, the Java slipped 
under it and missed the force of the blow. After 
a time the dove got tired of beating, and the Java 
went to sleep. There were many other birds in the 
aviary, but the Javas never attempted to sleep near 
any of them but the ringdoves or the white doves. 

After I had had Father Cutthroat nearly a year, 
he vanished mysteriously, and poor Mrs. Cutthroat 
in her desolation behaved very badly. She would 
slyly watch my Bengalese finches — two other tiny 
birds that looked like fawn and white butterflies — 
and as soon as they made a nest she would drive 
them from it, and lay eggs herself in the usurped 
place. 

This excited the Bengalese birds. The male 
would dance up and down and sing his little song 
that sounded like, " Hardly able, set the table ; hardly 
able, set the table ! " But if he approached the nest, 
Widow Cutthroat would rise, lean over the edge, 
sway to and fro, and make a hissing noise like a 
little snake. 

In spite of her apparent devotion to a particular 
nest, she never kept to it, and as soon as the Benga- 
lese pair made a new one, she would take it from 
them. I excused her bad conduct on the plea that 
she was grieving over the loss of her devoted mate. 
Where could he be? I looked high and low in the 

2^2. 




Flying Squirrels 
Page 273 



A Hummingbird and Finches 

aviary below, and the roof -veranda above — if he 
were dead I would at least find his body. It was im- 
possible for him to escape through the fine wire 
netting. 

Finally, his body or skeleton did appear, in a 
sudden and unexpected manner. It was immediately 
below the box of my flying-squirrels. These squir- 
rels had been in the aviary for a long time. They 
were beautiful little creatures with soft, silky fur 
and very large eyes. I had got them with the in- 
tention of taming them but, unfortunately, they only 
came out of their box at night. I often went in 
and looked long and earnestly at them as they ran 
and jumped about searching for food, but I did not 
attempt to play with them as I would have dis- 
turbed my sleeping birds. 

Their favorite haunt was, of course, the roof- 
veranda, but I soon found out that they could not 
sail horizontally, but only downward. A favorite 
sport with them is to run to the top, of a tree, flying 
down to the near-by branches of a lower one, run 
to the top of this, and then fly down to another. 
Jumping or springing squirrels would really be a 
better name for them. 

They were very quiet in their movements, and I 
do not think the birds minded them any more than 
they did the few mice that I could not keep out of 
the aviary. The mice were really very amusing, as 
they crept quietly from place to place, searching 
for the scraps of food the birds had left. They were 
s 273 



My Pets 

not afraid of me, and I often smiled as I held up my 
lantern and saw them climbing over tree trunks and 
branches, as naturally as if they too were birds, 
and occasionally stopping short, and peering at me 
with their beady eyes. 

I guessed that the cutthroat had been exploring, 
and in searching for a new place for a nest had been 
led by his curiosity to enter the squirrels' open 
doorway. Resenting the intrusion, they had prob- 
ably jumped at him and killed him. I knew that red 
squirrels would kill birds, and being now suspicious 
of these gray gymnasts, I had a carpenter come and 
fasten their box outside instead of inside the net- 
ting. Naturally, they did not stay in it, and I hope 
ran either to the gardens or the park, where they 
would find numbers of red squirrels to play with 
them. 



274 




CHAPTER XXVIII 



JAPANESE ROBINS AND A BOBOLINK 



I HAVE not up to this time said much about the 
birds in my collection that were usually most 
remarked by strangers. They were the Japanese 
robins, or Peking nightingales. 

I had heard of these red-billed, orange-breasted 
little birds with their large black eyes, and shortly 
after I began keeping birds had one sent to me. He 
was indeed a beauty, and in excellent condition, and 
had traveled as comfortably as a bird can travel in 
a good-sized cage with plenty of food and a sponge 
in his drinking-cup, so that if the water were spilt, 
he could suck the moisture from it. 

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My Pets 

I took him Into my study, and in trying to slip 
him from his traveling-cage into a larger one, for 
I always like to keep new arrivals in quarantine for 
a few days, he escaped from me. 

Now I was to see some of the lightning-like 
movements that the bird books spoke of. I closed 
the doors and he went around the room like a streak 
of light. I thoroughly believed what I had heard — 
that no cat can catch this robin, unless he chooses to 
be caught, and that he can clear a room of flies in a 
few minutes. Now he was this side of me, now the 
other. I had to keep turning my head to follow the 
swift motions of this little acrobat. As I watched 
him I admired more and more the red and orange of 
his costume, and the ring of white around his 
wonderful eyes that gave him a distinguished and 
foreign appearance. I had read of his rich, throaty 
song, his mellow calls, and listened anxiously for 
the first sounds to issue from his pretty throat. 

To my dismay he suddenly began to scold me, ut- 
tering hoarse,^ chattering, grating noises. I saw that 
he was excited and angry. This was not singing. 
It was scolding. I put him in the aviary the next 
day, and stopped staring at him. He hid for some 
time in a fir tree, then he came out, began to be at 
home, never acted shy or strange again, and sang 
nearly all day long a song that was all my fancy had 
imagined it. 

I was intensely interested in this foreigner that 
never for an instant lost his foreign look, his 

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Japanese Robins and a Bobolink 

foreign ways, and yet who seemed more at home 
than any native bird in my aviary. He kept up 
his inconceivably yet gracefully rapid movements. 
He would start at one end of the aviary, snatch a 
morsel from a food-dish, peck at a bit of fruit, turn 
a kind of somersault in the air, and land in a water- 
pan, where he would take a partial bath, and then 
dart off again. I never saw him take a complete 
bath, though he would be in the tub forty times a 
day. He was always in too much of a hurry to 
finish. 

He seemed to have quite a talent for mischief, and 
one day I could not help smiling as I saw him play 
a roguish trick on my robin Bob. He watched 
her leave her nest and get out of sight, then he 
darted to the eggs, settled down on them with a 
blissful expression of countenance and shut his eyes, 
as if to say, " How lovely to have something to care 
for ! " Another flash of thought then struck him. He 
sprang up, gave one of the eggs a good sharp peck 
that made a hole in it, and scampered off to avoid 
reprisals from the wrathful Bob who screamed if 
any one meddled with her eggs. 

Nearly all the time this robin flew about the aviary 
he kept up a gurgling, blissful song, and so fascin- 
ated was I with him that I sent away for a mate. 
She soon came. I had found a bird-dealer who 
really seemed to love his birds, and who never sent 
me a poor one or a sick one. When Mrs. Jap ar- 
rived, my friend, the first bird, nearly lost his head. 

2^7 



My Pets 

I have said that when I got him he went around the 
room Hke a streak of Hghtning. If it were possible 
for one to see two streaks in one I now was the 
favored individual. 

He, the enterprising happy bird, had been living as 
a stranger in a strange land. Here now was a be- 
loved little sister, right from his own dear land. What 
was he to do about it? Intense joy so urged him on 
that he could not stop long enough to speak to her. 
The fastidious, exquisite little female, in the intervals 
of cleaning her plumage, disarranged by travel, kept 
calling to him in a voice as rich as his own, " Where, 
oh where, oh where are you, my dear, oh ! 

" Here I am, oh ! here I am, oh ! here I am, oh ! " 
he would respond like a melodious flashlight, and 
finally he sobered down and she, having finished her 
toilet, began to fly with him. From that day to this 
they have been inseparable companions, chasing each 
other's bright wings about the aviary, bathing, eat- 
ing, drinking — not together usually, but one after 
the other in a hurried, graceful fashion. One amus- 
ing trick they had was to fly swiftly by my head and 
brush my ears with the tips of their wings. 

When tired of playing, singing, and eating, they 
occasionally settled down for a nap. I used to think 
they were fast asleep, when lo ! the male would wake 
up with a start, as if he had forgotten something, 
and would begin to rub his companion's head with 
his red bill. The female also woke up, turning her 
head round and round for him to shampoo every 

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Japanese Robins and a Bobolink 

part of it, then after he had finished she did her 
duty by going over his head. 

At night they used to sleep close beside each other, 
and always raised their pretty heads when I went 
near them with my lantern. They were never afraid 
of being captured, for I did not have to doctor them 
or handle them in any way. They had excellent ap- 
petites, and the immense amount of exercise they 
took kept them in fine condition. 

They were never vicious birds, but sometimes they 
exhibited a mischievous inclination to chase the 
smaller inhabitants of the aviary. I never knew 
them to kill a bird, except the aggravating yellow 
warbler. 

When I left home this autumn I pondered long 
over my duty toward these two beauties. I had 
had them for some years, and they had thoroughly 
explored my aviary, darting about the lower one, 
soaring up the elevator, around the roof-veranda, 
and down again. They liked me, but had no real 
love for me as some of my birds seemed to have. 
So, knowing that they could be happy elsewhere, 
and knowing also that I could not leave too many 
birds at home, I chose these two happy, debonair 
creatures for exile. 

I sent them to the kind curator of a large aviary, 
where I hear they are perfectly well and happy, as 
I knew they would be. Long may they live! No 
brighter, smarter little bird exists than the Japanese 
robin. 

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My Pets 

A very dear little bird that I had in my aviary was 
a bobolink. He was a sober-looking bird when I 
got him, for he was in his winter dress — yellowish 
brown with dusky wings and tail. When spring 
came he blossomed out into a new suit with trim- 
mings of cream and white — and how he sang! I 
never had a bird that took more pleasure in his own 
society. He would get by himself in a corner, safely 
out of the way of quarrels, and sing a captivating 
tangle of song, till he was exhausted and had to 
refresh himself by a hearty meal. 

He ate and drank and sang, and every time I 
think of him I call up a picture of a pretty bird lean- 
ing forward with distended throat from which issues 
a flood of melody. 

I loved my dear Bob o'Lincoln, and found out all 
I could about him. I was delighted to hear that 
there was a law against the capture of this gayest of 
songsters, and was interested to know that his kind 
has quite a wide range — from Utah to Nova Scotia, 
and from Manitoba to the Amazon, Bobolinks like 
the North in summer, but sensibly prefer the South 
in winter, where they have the name of reedbirds or 
ricebirds. Exasperated farmers down South shoot 
poor Bob because he and his numerous progeny stuff 
themselves in fields of rice and oats. However, if it 
were not for Bob and other insectivorous birds, the 
grain might never ripen, for in the spring and sum- 
mer they must subsist largely on the insects that are 
worse enemies of man than are the birds. 

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Japanese Robins and a Bobolink 

I kept Bob a year or two. The second summer I 
had him on my farm I Hstened one day to the wild 
boboHnks down in the meadow, pouring out their 
bird hearts in deHcious harmonies, then I opened the 
door of the room where Bob was and recommended 
him to join those merry fellows in the alders by the 
river. He sat for an hour or two as if deliberating, 
then he flew off in a leisurely way, and I saw him 
no more, but I know quite well that he would join 
his wild cousins, and when the autumn came, would 
fly south with them. 

I have several other birds in mind that I should 
like to write about, but I think the story of my 
pets is already long enough. I shall be satisfied if I 
have made birds a little more interesting to persons 
who already love them, and if I cause a few to be- 
come interested, who have cared nothing for them. 
They are exquisite creatures, and the more one 
studies them the more he finds to admire in them, 
and the greater number of points of resemblance are 
there discovered between them and human beings. 

There are cruel birds and kind birds, intelligent 
birds and stupid birds — ^birds that perhaps do not 
converse, but that certainly communicate to each 
other impressions and sensations in a kind of lan- 
guage of their own, and birds that scarcely converse 
at all. Yet after all, their intelligence is not our 
intelligence. One gets birds to a certain point, and 
they go no farther. However, they are eminently 
suitable as friends and companions for man. 

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My Pets 

Why is it that we have been so cruel to them? 
Why is it that the first thought of a bird in the mind 
of a boy is usually associated with the thought of a 
gun ? Our little brothers and sisters of the air were 
created for us. They ask only for the privilege of 
toiling unremittingly for us. Their busy little beaks 
are from morning till night at the service of their 
brother man. 

We have got to learn better how to appreciate 
their services. If we do not, there are dark days in 
store for this nation, for if the birds perish from the 
face of the earth naturalists tell us that man will 
perish too. 

There are three things we must do — we must take 
energetic measures to protect, first, our children; 
secondly, our birds ; and thirdly, our forests. 

Statisticians tell us that industrial slavery is ruin- 
ing many children who should become healthy 
mothers and fathers of families. They also tell us 
that the lack of protection of insect-eating birds is 
taking from the pockets of this nation every year 
the almost inconceivable sum of eight hundred mil- 
lions of dollars, and that the present frightful waste 
of wood if not checked, will cause us to be without 
timber, outside the national forests, in from twenty 
to forty years. 

What are we going to do about it? 

Are we to sink still further into the gross, short- 
sighted materialism of our age, or are we to wish 
for an awakening and quickening of the old Ameri- 

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Japanese Robins and a Bobolink 

can spirit — the spirit of one small shipload of per- 
sons that was, however, strong enough at one time 
to dominate this continent? 

" We are our brothers' keepers," said our stern 
and honest Pilgrim ancestors. " We are our broth- 
ers' keepers," we, their children, must learn to echo 
— keepers even to the beasts of the field and to our 
little brothers and sisters of the air, that have a 
right to exist and to lead their own lives, and to 
demand from us created beings of a higher order 
protection, sympathy, and goodfellowship. 



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A Record of My Pets 



A Record of My Pets 



A Record of My Pets 



A Record of My Pets 



A Record of My Pets 



A Record of My Pets 



A Record of My Pets 



A Record of My Pets 



